#of course hes been with an orcish woman!! for all he knows he could be gorgugs dad!!

[danerom]

it was so nice for bill seacaster to have quality family time with his sons fabian and gorgug !

[aadmelioraa]

Lost Lovers, Dead Mothers an Isildur x Estrid fic set during 2x03

part of a series with @butcharondir

The flames jump up the pyre, lapping at the verdant branches upon which the dead woman rests. Isildur looks to Estrid, wonders if she will shed a tear. But she stares ahead, her gaze unfocused. His thigh aches. He shifts his weight, and his elbow brushes against Estrid’s arm. She jumps back, startled. “It’s alright,” Isildur wants to say. “It’s just me.” But he can’t summon the words, and he doesn’t know what good they would do if he could.

Read on AO3

In the glow of the torches which surround the funeral pyre, his clothes stiff with sweat and ash, Isildur fights the panic which rises in his chest. The smoke drifts towards him, then away, and he can breathe again. He wonders if the smell of fire will always bring to mind Ontamo’s lifeless face. His eyes smart and he works hard to keep his hands from trembling. He’s still not sure how long it’s been since the darkness erupted, only that the new world in which he woke is entirely foreign to him.

Beside him, Estrid shivers, clutching the front of her cloak. She’s exhausted. They both are. His wound aches, the adrenaline which had coursed through him upon their rescue is long gone. He rests his hand on the pommel of his sword, then thinks better of it. He tries to relax his shoulders, finally among friendly folk.

A solemn assembly surrounds them, broken into groups of three or five. Fractured family units, all missing at least a mother, a father, a child. A pair of women nearby whisper about the person who had died. She’d been a healer, a very skilled one, but could not heal herself from the poison of an orcish arrow. Isildur imagines this woman lingering, trapped between life and death with her loved ones at her bedside, praying in vain for her recovery. Would that sort of loss hurt less than a sudden death, or would the devastation build with time?

“There’s her son,” one of the women says, and points to a tall young man with dark hair who shuffles into view. “Theo, she called him. Hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since she died, poor lad. Not even to the elf, that who was his mother’s lover.”

The young man takes the torch from Arondir without ceremony, drops it onto the pyre, and shuffles on.

Isildur shudders. It’s been a long time since he’s dwelled on his own mother’s funeral. Best to keep such memories buried. But it’s impossible not to make the comparison now. His mother had been draped in fresh cloth too, and buried quickly. Isildur’s chest grows tight again. He swallows the lump in his throat, taps a thumb along his good leg. He should have made more of an effort to visit her grave in recent years. But Rómenna isn’t his home any longer. And Armenelos never has been.

The flames jump up the pyre, lapping at the verdant branches upon which the dead woman rests. Isildur looks to Estrid, wonders if she will shed a tear. But she stares ahead, her gaze unfocused.

His thigh aches. He shifts his weight, and his elbow brushes against Estrid’s arm. She jumps back, startled.

“It’s alright,” Isildur wants to say. “It’s just me.” But he can’t summon the words, and he doesn’t know what good they would do if he could.

Estrid’s eyes follow Arondir as he makes his way to Theo. A line parts her brows. Perhaps she is thinking of her own lost lover.

…

They sleep in a large room with a dozen other refugees, each on their own cot. Isildur lies near the door, his damp boots and scavenged sword beside him. He doesn’t think he will need the weapon here, but he has yet to shake the feeling of the monstrous spider’s legs gripping his body.

Estrid sleeps an arm’s length away, facing towards him. She makes herself small, tucking her knees beneath her chin, her cloak still draped over her shoulders. The blanket she’d been given was threadbare. Isildur switched it with his own when she wasn’t looking.

He stares at the roof above them. The original roof had caved in and been replaced with simple thatch covering, the straw still fresh. The sweet, earthy scent reminds Isildur of the stables back home. Of Berek. His throat feels thick. He must sleep, or he’ll begin to sob. He closes his eyes.

At some point in the night, he’s startled from a sea-dream, the sort that is part grace and part torture. His mother’s face, beautiful and kind, the setting sun on western waters, mixing deep blues with fire.

He catches his breath before turning over, hoping no one is awake to note his distress. His eyes land on Estrid’s face. She finally looks at peace, exhaling the soft breath of sleep. Beneath her cot, the handle of her knife is just visible. He smiles, settling onto his back once more.

When the dawn comes, she’s nowhere to be found.

...

Isildur’s leg is too stiff for him to stand on his own in the morning. Fortunately, Arondir helps him to his feet, and accompanies him to the infirmary. The fog of the elf’s grief seems to have momentarily lifted, and he tells Isildur the function of each building he limps by—a mill, a fishery, a carpenter’s workshop. The settlement may have seen better days, but it had once been the sort of place men were proud of. Arondir seems to think it may be such a place again.

The infirmary is a single room in a wooden hut. In his mother’s stead, Theo has picked up the healer’s mantle. Though his manner is rough and his tone disinterested, he appears well-trained. Arondir ducks outside, promising to return before long.

Theo cleans and prepares Isildur’s wound, rubbing a salve along the ridges Estrid’s knife had created, softening the skin before it’s stitched. He must know Isildur did not come by his injury from an orc—it is far too clean a cut for that—but he doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t say anything other than “this’ll sting” as he dabs a sharp-smelling liniment onto the wound.

Isildur inhales through clenched teeth. “It was a mistake,” he says, clutching the underside of the table upon which he sits.

“What was?” Theo asks dully.

“Being stabbed.”

Theo snorts. “For you, maybe.”

Isildur watches him thread a curved needle. “You didn’t happen to see any of the Númenórean company come through Pelargir, did you? A Lieutenant Valandil, perhaps?” Elendil would have accompanied the queen, but Valandil may have lingered for a few days, if the ships sailed separately.

Theo shakes his head.

Isildur winces. “I had a single friend who believed I was alive, and I’ve lost them too.”

Theo stares, needle at the ready, not quite interested enough to ask the question.

“Berek, my horse,” Isildur explains.

“Your horse was your friend?” Theo says, his voice cracking slightly. “Did orcs kill it or something?”

“A group of wild men ambushed us and took him. Your…” Isildur clears his throat.

“Arondir rescued us.”

“Us?”

“Me and Estrid.”

“She’s not your friend, this Estrid?” Theo asks.

Isildur laughs softly. The word “friend” could not begin to encompass the strange depths of his brief acquaintance with the brave dark-eyed Southlander.

He considers telling the full story—how Estrid had stabbed him, how he’d pinned her down and held a sword to her throat only to find, rather than an enemy looking back at him, a face bearing pain that matched his own—but he feels sure Theo would not be in the mood to receive it. So he keeps quiet, digging his nails into the wood table as Theo resumes his work.

…

A weary-eyed woman hands Isildur a bundle of clothes and directs him down a narrow stone hall. His heart warms as he realizes he’s entered an old Númenórean bathhouse, though it’s no longer functional. The aqueduct must have been damaged long before the mountain spit flames. Instead, the people of Pelargir haul water in wooden buckets to fill a central reservoir. Isildur washes poorly, but begins to feel more like his old self.

The tunic and trousers he’s given are made from a sturdy fabric that has softened over time, worn thin around the knees and elbows. The leather doublet is stained and too large. Without his soldier’s uniform, he blends in. Unless he speaks, this group of men won’t recognize he isn’t one of them. Perhaps this will be his life for the foreseeable future.

...

He doesn’t see Estrid all day.

She’s probably found her betrothed, he thinks, as he tucks into a portion of stew that is more hearty than it is flavorful. He picks at a dense chunk of bread and tries not to think of the tavern in the Old Quarter where he used to dine with his family. Tomorrow, he will fish and catch his own supper. He’ll catch enough to share.

Theo slinks into the hall, snatches half a loaf of bread, and slinks back out. He gives Isildur a meaningful look as he leaves. Moonrise. Isildur hasn’t forgotten.

Across the room, Arondir frowns into his lap, the plate before him untouched. The noise of many small conversations ebbs and flows as people come and go.

Isildur is watching the entrance to the hall when Estrid hovers on the threshold, ever cautious, her wide dark eyes scanning her surroundings. Isildur raises his hand without a second thought, and Estrid catches his gaze. One side of her mouth pulls into a slight smile, and she makes her way to his table. A man to Isildur’s left slides Estrid a steaming bowl, and a young woman across from him shares her bread.

“How’s your leg?” she asks Isildur, her tone almost cynical. She doesn’t appear to have rested much since their arrival, and seems ill at ease. It’s warm beside the fire, but she still wears her cloak.

Isildur smiles. “Good as healed.”

Estrid lifts an eyebrow, glancing towards Arondir. “Did your elf friend work some magic then?”

Isildur laughs. “Not that I know of, but don’t get any clever ideas about stabbing me again to find out.”

Estrid smiles weakly, dragging a crust of bread across her bowl and back. “You’ve really never been in a brawl or battle back home, across the sea?”

Isildur clears his throat, clears his head of Valandil and Ontamo, of alleyway arguments, of his ill-fated adolescent scrap with the Queen’s Guards. “Nothing serious. Not until the battle for the Southlands.”

They had spoken of this on the journey to Pelargir, Estrid’s arms around his waist as Berek brought them to fresher air and earth. Estrid hadn’t asked many questions, leaving Isildur to fill the silence, or let it settle around them like a fine mist.

“I suppose you found what you came looking for, one way or another,” she says. She doesn’t speak with bitterness, but the words land strangely to Isildur. “I expect you’ll be returning home soon as you can.”

“I’m not sure when Númenor will return. And there’s no ship in these parts that could make the journey there.” Isildur swallows a bit of dry bread with difficulty. “You haven’t had any luck finding him, then?”

Estrid looks up sharply.

“Your betrothed,” Isildur says.

“Oh.” Estrid releases a soft quiet breath. “No.”

“I’m sure he’s looking for you elsewhere. Perhaps he hasn’t made it this far south yet.”

Estrid presses her lips into a firm line for a brief moment, and Isildur wonders what he’s said to offend, and how he can make it better, but then her face softens. “Perhaps not.”

[scutchythedm]

*sigh* "You've met Bill Seacaster SO many times.. You realize it makes perfect sense now. It feels like things are coming to a head, your story's almost sort of unwinding and unfolding... This makes sense. You're on the Owlbears with Fabian. You and Fabian joined the same group. If you're not brothers... all it would require is Bill Seacaster to have a child with an orcish woman. How likely would that be? Bill Seacaster sailed all around the world, of COURSE he found an orcish woman. This was YEARS ago, oh my god, dude! Bill S—"

"FATHER!"

"..what? Who are you talking to?"

*PULLS OUT HIS SWORD* "WHAT DO YOU KNOW"

"AH! ..wait. Are you my dad?"

"PAPA—"

"..are you my son?"

"ARE YOU MY DAD?"

"PAPA, NO WAY—"

"ARE YOU MY SON?"

"THERE'S NO WAY"

"IS THIS REAL"

"You would know better than I would, right?"

"Have you ever been with an orcish woman?"

"HUNDREDS."

"Of course he has!"

"I— why would you kill me?"

*looks at Fabian* "..why do you know that?"

"NO ONE SURPRISES ME WITH INFORMATION I WASN'T EXPECTING"

"I was just making a guess, it just seems like its true"

"We are NOT brothers"

"We could be twins..."

"TWINS FROM TWO DIFFERENT WOMBS"

"Yeah.."

"You two, stop. Papa, stop this"

"Leave it to BILL SEACASTER to sire twins in TWO DIFFERENT WOMEN"

"No, papa— Everyone needs to stop, no one is— You're not my brother, you can't— you can't do that, papa. You can do anything, but you can't— you can't do that"

"What if my mom...is your mom...with Bill Seacaster"

"No, you're right. I have only one son in this room right now."

"...me?"

"No—"

I'm not even sorry for this long post I just had to include every bit of it bc it KILLS me

[memento-morianon]

happy storyteller saturday! do your characters have any irrational fears? where did they stem from? how do your characters go about dealing with them?

(in hindsight, trying to participate in storyteller saturday while i was on a roadtrip was poor timing lol, sorry for the late reply)

hmmmm irrational fears. a very good question! also a tough one for me to answer, because i get so focused on their big fears that play a role in the plot and character arcs, I haven't really thought about their smaller and more irrational fears before.

Evarin and Morianon are my two major protagonists, so I'll just focus on them and talk about their fears in general, and maybe i'll find some irrational fears as i explain the bigger fears.

Evarin's greatest fears are losing her loved ones and not knowing who she is.

the fear of losing loved ones is mostly centered on her husband Morianon, because he has a history of severe depression and she remembers the times he has almost died since coming to live in her town as a child. whether it's by accident or his own hand, she is afraid that he will die in some tragic way before he reaches his natural lifespan. and she knows that even in old age, his species means he will most likely die before she does. this is a pretty rational fear, all things considered. it gets worse when Morianon has been having a rough time, and it fades when he's had a long stretch of good days.

her fear of not knowing who she is might be considered more irrational. Evarin is a trans woman, and she's also 3/4 gnome and 1/4 orc. Her mother is half orc and her father is a gnome. the gender cultures between these two groups are not the same! Evarin often feels she is too gnome to ever have any place in orcish culture, even though she is related to/ very good friends with multiple orcs and participates in their culture all the time. she avoids looking too much like her father because he is a man, but if she looks too much like her mother, she would end up looking too orcish in a way that gnomish culture would perceive as masculine.

the primary traits she's worried over are her facial hair and her tusks. gnomes don't grow tusks, unless they have the right recessive genetics and enough testosterone. being amab, part orc, and having a gnomish father who carries the recessive gene without presenting it, Evarin could grow tusks faster and longer than her mother's. she dreads this, but the deep roots make them difficult to get removed and Evarin has always sort of avoided getting any surgeries to affirm her gender. so she keeps the tusks filed down to the smallest possible size. she also keeps her facial hair meticulously trimmed. more so than even a gnomish cis woman. gnomish women often have some manner of facial hair, usually just a few chin whiskers and some sparse hairs on the sides of their faces. Evarin thinks her stubble makes the tusk bulges in her jaw look too obvious.

Evarin fears losing her sense of self because she's in such a precarious place between gnome and orc, woman and man. she is a woman, but she can't bring herself to fully abandon parts of herself that many would consider inherently more masculine. she is part orc but she doesn't think it's enough to count, so she clings to her gnomish side and feels detached from the orcish culture even as she participates in it. she frets over her public perception, though she knows this small town community is full of people who accept her as she is, and she worries that she might lose her grip on this narrow internalized ideal she's built for herself. and then who is she? this fear is a major part of her character arc over the course of the story.

which also brings me to a potential irrational fear that's been blocking her from stabilizing that sense of self. I think perhaps she is terrified of getting any surgeries. she would never admit it. her mother is a doctor. Evarin herself studied medicine and is a professional medical "singer", which means she uses vocal magic to assist in medical situations. so it's really quite irrational of her to be afraid of surgeries. she knows all the steps taken to make it safe! she knows the recovery procedures! but somehow when she thinks about getting her tusks surgically removed, or having bottom surgery, or getting breast implants, she feels this terrible repulsion at the idea. maybe she had an operation as a child, some standard thing like getting surgery for a badly broken bone, or having an internal body part removed for health reasons (adenoids, appendix, etc) and it just freaked her out in a way that will not leave. She does occasionally have to attend surgeries as a medical singer, so she has learned to focus on her own job and avoid her fear when it's someone else being operated on. but i think she's doing everything she can to avoid needing any surgeries herself.

and then there's Morianon. goodness. he's got so many fears. he was badly traumatized as a child from being abused and neglected and ultimately surviving a hurricane that struck his birth town. he was then adopted into a foreign country. he's afraid of pain, dying, strangers, strong winds, he's scared because he feels small, he's afraid of being alone, he's terrified of being vulnerable. he's got a lot of fear in that small feathered body. most of which he can't even begin to explain because he is also afraid that other people will think he's crazy and dismiss him. he has historically coped by just not being himself. he's got dissociative identity disorder. he shoves his fears and coping mechanisms into various internal boxes and hopes they stay in those boxes forever.

he has gotten therapy, but this is a sort of fantasy pre-industrial era, or semi-industrial era, and while magic has allowed for some pretty useful advancements in medicine and technology beyond the expected (like full gender affirming surgical care) alas the field of therapy is just as messy as it has been in real life history. he's doing better! he's no longer paralyzed by all of his fears, especially those involving other people. but i would say that some of the therapies he's tried have just not been helpful. there are things he would rather keep to himself and refuses to bring up in therapy, won't even mention to his wife or parents. those secrets end up being extremely plot relevant and he's going to have to confront his fears in order to overcome his own character obstacles.

[jmwilligerauthor]

LMoP - Chapter 3.3: Barthen's Provisions

Where the Lionshield Coster had been a small, modest trading post, Barthen's Provisions was an expansive emporium of supplies. The building was nearly twice the size of the coster, and the shelves were lined with all manner of adventuring equipment. Backpacks, bedrolls, ropes and rations sat on well-kept displays, clearly labeled and with pops of color to draw the eye.

Sonny drove the wagon to the rear entrance of the shop, where they were greeted by two clerks who introduced themselves as Ander and Thistle. The party went through their own introductions before explaining to the two clerks why they were there. Upon hearing Gundren’s name, the two nodded and said that they'd been expecting the party's arrival. After securing the goods (and profusely apologizing for the white pawprints across the interior of the cart) the party was led inside and introduced to the owner of the shop, mister Elmar Barthen.

“Thank you so very much,” the shopkeeper said, clapping his thin hands together. “It's so nice to have adventurers such as yourselves to help our little community here.”

“Nice enough to get some coin?” Viola asked.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Honestly, woman, do you think of nothing else?” She huffed.

“What, are we supposed to just do everything for free?” Viola growled. “Not that I'd expect you to know, princess, but here in the real world things cost money.”

The two girls glowered at each other, and Elmar nervously raised his hands from the counter. “Now, now, there's no need to argue.” He said, drawing gold from a nearby pouch. “Here are ten gold pieces for each of you, as I discussed with Gundren. Speaking of which, where is that old goat? I was under the impression that he would be coming ahead of you to investigate the excavation site.”

The party looked at each other, and Elmar’s face fell with the uncomfortable silence. “Oh dear,” he muttered. “Has something happened?”

Verne explained all that had occurred with the Cragmaw Hideout and Gundren's kidnapping. Elmar sat back on a stool behind the counter and placed his head in his hands.

“How dreadful,” he cried. “Gundren is an old friend of mine, so please, if you can, get him back safely.”

“Of course.” Sonny replied.

“It's nice to meet friends of his,” Peri said, “he doesn't seem like the type who'd have very many.”

Elmar laughed, “Yes, he does have a bit of a gruff nature to him, doesn't he? But he's a good man beneath that rocky exterior. A good leader, too. Got a lot of us excited when he talked about finding the lost mine in the nearby hills. Last I heard, his brothers, Nundro and Tharden, were camped out over there, prepping the site for excavation. It sure would be something if they found it.”

“Sildar mentioned something about that.” Rose said. “Do you really think that it's the lost mine? People have been looking for it for centuries!”

“What's so special about an old mine?” Peri tilted their head, curiously.

“Are you serious?” Rose asked. “It has one of the most powerful magical artifacts ever created!”

The witch turned to the others, but was met with blank stares.

“The Forge of Spells?” she asked in disbelief.

“None of us know what you're talking about, bookworm, so just explain already.” Viola rolled her eyes.

“Fine then,” Rose huffed. “Five hundred years ago, clans of dwarves and gnomes made an agreement known as The Phandelver's Pact to share a mine in a cavern known as Wave Echo Cave. The cave had a variety of precious minerals and sources of magical power, which attracted spellcasters from across the land who worked together with the dwarves and gnomes to create the Forge of Spells, which could create magical items. Things were running smoothly until an orcish army swept through the north, destroying everything in their path. In the resulting battles, the cavern collapsed, and the location of Wave Echo Cave (and the Forge of Spells) was lost to time.”

“You've an impressive knowledge of history, miss.” Elmar said.

“Oh, I just like to read.” Rose blushed. “Faerun's history is interesting to me. So much more straightforward than the history of the courts back home.”

“Oh? Where is ‘home’ for you?” The shopkeeper asked.

Rose's smile fell and her posture tensed. “Far, far, away from here.”

Sensing that he was approaching sensitive territory, Elmar changed the subject. “While I have you here, is there anything I can interest you in? We've all manner of supplies perfect for brave adventurers such as yourselves.”

“I could do with some more rations,” Verne said. “I fed most of mine to some wolves, and it would be nice to replenish.”

Elmar widened his eyes, but said nothing as he grabbed ten units of rations and handed them to the elf. The others used the opportunity to replenish their stores as well. When they had concluded their business, Elmar waved them goodbye and thanked them once again for their services. “Oh, and one more thing!” he shouted as they were walking out the door. “Avoid the Redbrands if you can- they've been making all sorts of trouble for the townsfolk.”

The party waved their acknowledgement and continued down the road to the Stonehill Inn.

“These Redbrands sure do seem like trouble.” Peri said. “I hope we don't run into them.”

“Eh, I'm not worried.” Viola replied. “They sound like some two-copper punks who only mess with people weaker than them. Nobody who can actually fight beats on old people.”

“Maybe we should do something about them.” Sonny offered. “If they're really going around hurting people for no reason, I'd feel weird ignoring it.”

“An admirable sentiment,” Verne replied. “But we need not get involved in local squabbles. Little good can come from seeking out trouble.”

“But if we know something bad is happening and we don't help out, doesn't that make us part of the problem?” Sonny asked.

“Not if us interfering makes the problem worse, Sonny.” Rose replied. “If we attack the Redbrands, they might take their frustrations out on the townsfolk, and they'll be worse off than if we'd done nothing.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Sonny frowned. “But I don't like it.”

Rose and Verne looked at each other, unsure of what to say. They soon arrived at the Stonehill Inn, and all thought of justice and retribution was driven from their minds as they were greeted by warmth and the promise of a good night's rest.

[momolady]

Alban the Orc

This story is told from the point of view of Alban. His bar sees lots of people come and go, but the only one he seems to pay any mind of is you.

Male Monster/Main Character x Female Woman (both cis)

////////////////////////////////////////////////

I’ve noticed one of the regular patrons has taken a shining to Silke and it’s not one I would recommend polishing. He’s a rough type, and not in the usual orcish way that is accepted. I don’t like the way he looks at her, nor the way he sneers at his friends when she walks away from the table. I’ve told Silke to stop being so nice, not everyone understands that it is just hospitality, but she would always appear with that smile again and that charm she refused to turn off for anyone.

“If you want to stop serving that table, all you have to do is ask and I’ll have one of the elf girls run it,” I told her.

Silke looked up at me with those soft eyes of hers suddenly going sharp. “I’m fine with it, Alban,” you huffed. “Stop worrying so much, I told you I can handle myself.”

“A short, soft thing like you is like cake in these parts, I told you that when we first met,” I grouched back. The two of us have been like this since I hired her, but I always need hard workers in my tavern, and Silke worked just as hard as me most days. “I keep you around for a reason, Softy, I don’t want you getting scared off.”

“I am fine,” Silke rolled your eyes at me. “He’s just a flirter.” You walked on while I eyeballed the table closer.

If he was just flirting, I don’t think he’d make the hair on the back of my neck stand up the way it does. The fella sets off all my warning signs, and I know I am rarely wrong.

Later the evening I went across the tavern to speak to a friend, but as I was leaving I heard that rough orc guffawing to his friends.

“I figured with the reaping coming up, she would be eager for me to come and grab her. She’s always so happy to see me, I figure she’d love to see me in bed then too.” My guts churned and tightened as they laughed. This brute was not using the reaping for its traditional purpose, Silke deserved better than that. I quickly left the table, urging Silke to join me in the back.

“I’m busy, what’s up your butt now, Alban?” she huffed.

I looked her up and down, knowing full well this could start an argument between us that could last for days. “That patron I keep telling you to stop being nice to-”

“Oh my goddess, you need to stop! He doesn’t mean anything to me!” Silke huffed. “I’m just being polite, stop acting jealous because I-”

“I’m not being jealous! What does that even mean? That’s not the point, Softy, I just heard him saying he’s going to take you during the reaping!”

Silke’s face went flat, then her brow pursed and she brought her hand to her mouth.

I cleared my throat and tried to be supportive. “I heard him say he’s going to take you just so he can get you into his bed. I don’t think you want that.”

Silke was looking away from me, her eyes focused off beyond the corner we were behind. She then looked ahead, staring at the wall as she began nibbling on her finger nails. I took her hand, pulling it away from her chewing teeth.

“I never thought anyone would wanna take me for the reaping.” Silke’s eyes flicked back up to me. “I’m just being nice to him, what makes him think I wanna-” She cringed and made a face.

“Can you hide at home during the reaping?” I asked her. “Just stay there and don’t move all day.”

“What about work?” Silke huffed.

Of course she would be worried about that. “Forget about work! I don’t want my best employee being mauled by some dick brained brute! Stay the fuck home, Softy or I’ll fire you.”

“No!” Silke blurted. “What if he finds me at home?”

My guts did that weird thing again where they were both hot and cold while flipping around. “How about I come and get you? I’ll pretend I’m reaping you. Stay here a few days, then we can just say it wasn’t a good match.”

Silke looked me up and down, and I had never felt so humiliated by a gaze. “Is faking a reap even legal?”

“That’s not the point! I’m trying to stop you from getting kidnapped and held hostage all your life. Do you want that, or do you want to play pretend?”

“Alright alright,” Silke huffed. She placed her hands around her mouth again. “I live near the market square. I’m in one of the lofts. You can come get me there.”

I nodded. “Good. I’ll be sure to serve him extra so he’s gets really drunk tonight just in case.”

Silke looked bothered still even after we agreed upon it. She placed her thumb near her mouth and started to chew on her nail.

“It’ll be okay. You aggravate me, but I’m not letting you get hurt.” I patted the top of her head and Silke frowned at me.

“I’m not a child!” She followed me from the back. “Don’t think you can treat me like one because of this.”

The next morning I got up early in order to meet Silke at her home. I had sent the one orc out right at closing with another drink. He’d never been so wasted before, so I expected him to be unconscious for most of the reaping.

The morning was cold and chilly, so I put on a scarf around my neck. As I walked out the reaping was already going. There were people being carted away by their intended, orc smiling and celebrating. This was supposed to be a joyous day, but all I felt was dread. I headed toward the market square and I saw Silke coming out from the back. She should have waited for me, but since that orc was probably still unconscious I’d fuss at her later. She was wearing a coat with a hood, she looked like her nickname, soft and warm. Something made my heart skip a beat at that thought, but I quickly tossed it aside.

I was about to call out her name when the worst happened. I saw him staggering out from an alleyway. He was disheveled and I could almost see the alcohol evaporating off of him. Silke saw him too and she stood still where she was. The look on her face struck me like an arrow and I raced forward.  I shoved the orc as I passed by, knocking him into the gutter. I swooped up Silke, not bothering to stop running as I held her in my arms.

“Aye! That’s my woman!” The orc slurred from the ground.

I didn’t stop, I kept going, taking Silke back with me to the tavern. I pushed through the doors, letting them slam shut behind me. I took Silke to the stairs where she struggled in my arms.

“I have finish cleaning,” she whimpered.

“No you don’t.” I carried her upstairs, unaware of how red her face had become. I took her into my place and then it hit me. I set her down just before I walked through the door, only to see the stricken look upon her beet colored face.

“Are you alright?” I huffed.

“I don’t know.” Silke cupped her hands around her cheeks, trying to rub away the red.

I pointed to the floor. “Stay put. I’m going to go lock the door.”

Silke’s expression went blank and her eyes widened. She ran after me as I headed back to the stairs. “You don’t think he’ll come here do you?”

“I think he might. I’m surprised her hasn’t.” I turned back and patted the top of her head. “You’ll be safe here, Softy. So stay put.”

“I’m not a kid!” She fussed after me.

I went down stairs, and sure enough, the orc was already in the tavern. He threw a chair at me and I managed to catch it. A fight ensued, but since he was still so slobbering drunk, it didn’t last long. Some of my neighbors came and helped me deal with him and I went back upstairs to check on Silke.

She was sitting at my small table, chewing on her fingernails as I walked in. “What happened?” She jumped up immediately.

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

Silke’s worried expression didn’t fade. “I heard you fighting, don’t tell me it was nothing!”

“Well it was nothing, a few punches and he went down like a rotten tree. It was nothing and it will remain nothing!”

Silke frowned, but a look of concern was maintained upon her face. “Then can I go down and clean?”

“No,” I huffed. “You can stay here, I’m not risking you getting hurt. You’ll pretend to be my happily reaped bride and that will be your job.”

“No!” She blurted back at me.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “You can clean at night when the bar is empty if that will calm you down. But for now, I don’t want you getting dragged off when I’m not looking.”

Silke glared. “Fine.”

For the next few days, Silke and I shared my home. I let her have the bed, and I slept on the floor. During the day, I worked, and in the evenings she would come down to do her work. We treated each other like normal those first couple of days, bickering back and forth on everything. But I noticed a tiny shift one evening, as she came downstairs, Silke touched me. She then smiled and teased me about the noise during the day, which was odd. A couple of days later, as I was going to lay down to sleep, Silke stopped me.

Her face was red and conflicted. She wanted to look nice, but she also appeared uncertain. “Look, it’s a big bed, and I can’t just watch you sleep on the floor anymore. Just...I don’t know...it’s your bed after all.”

“Your point?” I scoffed.

“Just get in bed!” Silke huffed. “Don’t argue with me.”

I smirked at her. “You want to go to bed with me?”

Silke glared back at me. “It’s nothing to think about. Just two friends sharing a bed.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, which i was excited to sleep in again. “It’s been a long time since I shared my bed with such a lovely girl.”

Silke scoffed. “I could say the same thing.” She threw my pillow at me.

I broke into a girn. “You’ve shared your bed with lovely girls?”

“Get all those images out of your mind, big boy.”

I placed my pillow down as she pulled back the covers. As she got into bed, her nightgown pulled up over her soft, curvy legs. I spotted a bit of her thigh before she tugged the skirt down. I looked away, taking off my tunic only to hear a slight gasp. I looked back and Silke had tucked herself in.

I laid down in bed, feeling her warmth right behind me. I closed my eyes, trying to sleep, but that warmth and presence of another person kept nagging at me.

“Thank you.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her lump in the bed. “What was that?”

“Thank you.” Silke popped her head out from under the covers. “I never said thank you, for saving me.” She gave me a shy but embarrassed look. “I’m glad I’m here and not…”

I smiled. “You’re a pain in my ass, Softy. But I would never let anything hurt you.”

Silke’s smile turned shy and the way her cheeks turned soft pink made my heart gallop. She looked so soft, so pretty, the thought made me lose my breath and the silence between us became awkward.

“Good night,” I said and rolled over to avoid looking at her.

“Good night,” she mumbled softly.

I forced myself to sleep, if only to escape the thought of her lips and how badly I wanted to touch them while holding her thighs.

I woke in the morning to a weight upon my chest, one that wasn’t unpleasant in the slightest. I felt so cozy and comfortable I didn’t want to wake. Something plush was pressed into my ribs, and something else was wrapped around my thigh. I looked down, seeing Silke cuddled into my side. I froze in place, holding my breath as it all dawned on me. That softness and coziness was her plump, warm body. I strained to keep composure, to keep from imagining things. She pressed in tight, mewling sweetly in her sleep. I grit my teeth, trying to make my blood rush anywhere else than where it was going.

“Are you awake?” Her sleepy voice beckoned.

I tried to remain still and keep pretending I was asleep. Silke moved, but not away. She kept her body close to mine and her hand went down my bare chest. What was she doing? I started to ‘wake up’ to see if she would move away, but she didn’t.

“What are you doing?” I grumbled.

“I’m comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” I groused. “You’re wrapped around me like ivy on a tree!”

Silke rested her cheek against my pec. “Just a few more seconds.”

I wanted to stay like that forever, but I couldn’t give in. “You’re testing my patience, Softy.”

“Are you uncomfortable?”

I closed my eyes. “No. Quite the opposite.”

“It’s weird right? How nice this is?” Silke’s foot went down my leg then back up. “I’ve never slept so well with someone before. You feel...so nice.”

I feel nice! That’s quite funny. She’s the one who is all soft and squishy against me. Her warm, soft thighs, her plump, big breasts, I’m losing my mind as they press closer to me. “You feel better,” the words flow out against my will. “Trust me. Nothing feels as good as that.”

Silke squeaked and huddled her face down. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Silke’s thigh tightened around mine. I felt her lips against my chest, then my neck. I moaned as the soft, almost heavenly touch.

“Silke, what are you doing?”

Silke’s lips touched mine and I grabbed hold of her. I wrapped my arms around her, drinking deep from that moment. She stole my breath as the kisses deepened and grew in intensity. She ran her fingers through my hair, touching my scalp which drove me almost as crazy as her thighs wrapping around my hips.

“If we don’t stop, I’ll be late for opening,” I growled into her ear.

Silke looked into my eyes, stroking her soft palm down my cheek. “I don’t want to stop though.”

I kissed her again, hungrily baring down upon her. Her soft moans and whimpers as I went further fueled me. I buried myself between those breasts, drowning in their softness. Her plump, pink nipples grew hard against my tongue and I bit upon them as my tusks rubbed against the supple flesh.

“Alban!” She mewled loudly. “Oh goddess-”

I quickly kicked away my pants and she flinched as my cock fell against her thigh. She looked up at me shyly as I took her hand and placed it upon me.

“You’re so hard-” she said breathlessly. “Because of me?”

I kissed her breasts again, rubbing myself into her thigh. “You have no idea what you do to me, Softy.” I licked between her breasts then nuzzled into her neck. “This soft, warm body of yours, I want to be buried in it.”

Silke moaned. “Then do it.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, opening her thighs more for me. “You reaped me, so this is how it should go, right?”

My breath stuck in my chest. “But that was only for pretend.”

“I don’t mind if it’s not.” Her small hands pet up my chest and cupped my face between them. “I can be yours if you will be mine.”

I took her hands into mine, holding them tight as I melded into her. Everything good about her outside was twice as good inside. Her deep, wet, warmth sucked me in and almost overtook me. I steadied myself, holding her hands as I rolled my hips. She took all of me happily, moaning in pleasure with each thrust.

The way we fought before, I never would have assumed we would be here in a marriage bed. I always did find Silke beautiful, and I did enjoy our bickering. I wanted her around, now, I never wanted to leave her side. I knelt down, kissing her and letting her grab hold of me. I was wrapped in that sweetness, her body pressed against me. I could feel her quivering all around me, her breath turning shallow with a sweetness to her voice.

When I came she cried into my shoulder and pulled my hair. She took my very soul from my body, turning me into dust and wind, so that I collapsed into her. I laid there and listened to her heartbeat against my ear.

After a while, I rolled over and pulled her into my arms. I held her lovingly, kissing her cheek and nuzzling to her hair. She held onto my hand, kissing my fingertips and smiling shyly.

“What made you change your mind?” I asked.

“I always thought you were handsome,” she murmured. “Being so close to you, my little crush sort of took control.”

I chuckled and hugged her tighter, smiling smugly in her face. “You had a crush on me?”

Silke wrapped my hair around her fingers and tugged. “Don’t act like you didn’t!” She faced me like we were in battle. “I knew you were jealous all that time.”

“Was not!” I snapped. “I’d never be jealous of that asshole. I knew if I wanted to I could have you.”

“Did you?” Silke scoffed.

I kissed her and her hold on my hair weakened. She kissed back, melting into me again so that my blood began to rise.

“I just didn’t think you wanted me,” I whispered to her.

Silke sighed. “I wasn’t going to ever let you know that. But...I do.”

“Then the reaping-”

“No need to pretend,” she whispered. “You're my orc husband until I grow tired of you,” she teased.

“And you’ll be my wife until then as well,” I murmured against her cheek. “Maybe even longer.”

[luna-writes-stuff]

CHAPTER XI

A Kili X OC series

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Tw: Mentions of blood, arrow wounds, hole in a hand. Description of pain and losing consciousness. The whole Azog confrontation scene, so falling trees, wargs, orcs etc. Small mention/description of trauma and PTSD.

For the orcish that was not canon: I used a dark speech translator. I am aware that this is not the perfect translator and that it is not exactly correct, but I could not find anything better after 30 minutes, so enjoy it.

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Thorin tried to fight off Azog and ended up unconsious? Cool. Raewyn threw him off his warg with a literal hole in her hand. Pick your icon.

The group of dwarves began to rush forward. Raewyn remained at Bilbo's side for the time. After her earlier debacle with Thorin, she could not be sure about how safe she would be with the rest of the company. Of course, Fili and Kili had stood up for her, but they were still Thorin's kin. And she practically just told him to die. So she was not in the most fortunate position.

"What happened?" Bilbo asked through the pants, having trouble catching up with the ranger, even as she could barely walk.

"Goblins." She answered, her voice void of emotion, as if too much had spilled out.

Bilbo let out a confused, yet worried 'ahhh'. He noticed how she was struggling, but it might not have been the perfect timing to stop in the middle of the road to talk about it. They needed to move. And they needed to do it quickly.

Dwarves ran past the duo, nearly pushing both of them over. Raewyn had nearly fell down when someone - rather rudely - shoved her to the side. Had it not been for the sudden arm around her waist, she would have been a nice warg meal.

She turned her head towards the owner of the hand, her eyes widening as she noticed Kili yet again. "Surprised to see me?" He teased.

Raewyn merely hummed at his words, no longer feeling the energy to talk back or interact with anyone or anything at the moment. Kili, obviously, knew better than to continue asking anything, but he could not help but feel guilty for the poor woman. He truly had no idea what his uncle did to make her hate him so much, but by the looks of it, it seemed serious. He had never seen Raewyn cry. And he might have only known her for a couple weeks, but he was quick to make out that she wasn't one for crying in public. Or perhaps crying in general.

Maybe she barely even expressed any emotion besides anger and annoyance. He could not tell until only a few minutes earlier. And it truly did break his heart. Not only because she was in obvious pain, but because he could not do anything about it. He had no knowledge about the subject. He was forced to see her suffer without being able to say anything about it. And he would make sure to not see that happen any time soon.

As they ran, Raewyn looked over at Bilbo occasionally to make sure the hobbit was still with them. She wasn't going to lose him again. Not like she did in the goblincaves. She did not even realize Kili's abnormal silence and determination. She was still too caught up in her own mind.

Before she could even come to a halt, she noticed the dwarves had all climbed up into the trees. Realization dawned on her as she, Bilbo and Kili had been the only ones left on the floor. A huge warg suddenly appeared in front of them, baring its dangerous teeth to the three of them. And as if it was a reflex, Kili pushed Raewyn out of the way, throwing her towards the trees, past the threatening animal.

"Kili!" She yelped, before colliding with the ground harshly, a sharp pain filling her leg, making her cry out as she connected her hands with the arrow wound, trying to stop the bleeding. She felt a hand tug on her shoulder, ushering her up, and for once, she did not need to look in order to know it was Fili.

"They are coming!" Thorin shouted, but Raewyn ignored him, speaking quietly to Fili instead.

"No." She protested, trying to shake the dwarf's hand off, her heartbeat increasing tremendously as fear flushed through her veins.

"Kili and Bilbo are still out there."

"You won't be of any help like this." The blonde tried, but she clumsily stood up slapping his hand off. She knew her eyes were glossing over again, but she could not care less at the moment. They had already seen her vulnerable. She had nothing left to lose.

"I will be able to help for as long as there is breath in my lungs." She wheezed out, grabbing one of her daggers with shaking hands, taking her aim at the creature.

She let out a high whistle, catching its attention. The wolf-like beast turned around at the sound, growling at the young woman, who was all but ready to throw her weapon.

"This is Asha blood, Fili." She began as she threw the knife, the power of it causing the blade to imbed itself into the warg's skull, making the creature collapse at the impact, dying almost immediately.

"We do not stop fighting until our hearts stop beating." She whispered, her voice wavering at she was clinging onto her last bit of strength.

Kili stared at the woman for a second, before rushing over to Bilbo to help him climb up into the trees. Fili had managed to jump down, assisting Raewyn as she too, took her place into the tree. When both of them were at a safe height, she let out a deep breath, adrenaline rushing through her body as she tried to rest against the branch that held both her and the blond dwarf up.

The orcs and wargs had come closer. One in specifically rose in front of the others, showing himself proudly. Raewyn dared to risk a little look at Thorin, but his eyes were glued onto the white orc in front of him.

"It cannot be." The leader mumbled, astonished at the sight in front of him. "Azog?"

"Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?" The orc spoke in black speech, looking straight into the fallen king's eyes. "Ganziligi unarug obod nauzdanish, Torin undag Trainob."

So he had died, Raewyn had concluded silently, her heart falling at the thought of Thrain dying. She had never met him, but she remembered her father telling her tales about the dwarven heir. It had nearly been as if she truly knew him.

"Raewyn, daughavas ro Raegon." The Gundabad orc announced, drawing the ranger's attention. "Lat liwo ukuffas."

The giant orc turned to his company, speaking to them in specific. "Kod, Toragid biriz." His company seemed to smile ominously at these words, looking at Thorin and Raewyn in particular. "Wororida!"

With those words, the wargs ran towards the trees, violently snapping off branches, trying to reach the dwarves. The trees began to shake as the company had trouble holding on, trying so desperately not to fall off. As the trees began to loose their footing in the earth, the dwarves jumped from tree to tree, hoping to find some sort of safety.

When their own tree began to shake too much, Fili looked at Raewyn, who lazily shook her head at him, her strength slowly failing her.

"Come on, you stubborn woman." Fili mumbled, forcing one arm around Raewyn as he leapt into the other tree, wheezing as the branches harshly collided with his stomach. The ranger, however, seemed to not be effected by it, holding her signature strong look.

"Sho gad adol!" Azog commanded, his voice carrying over the heights, sending shivers into the stomachs of the dwarves.

Raewyn was quick to realize everyone had climbed into the same tree. And that tree, was never going to last against the wargs on the floor. Something had to happen and it had to be soon.

And as if someone had heard her prayer, a flaming pinecorn flew through the air, landing in front of a few wargs, causing the animals to yelp and growl, jumping away from the firey heat.

"Fili!" Gandalf yelled, throwing one of the flaming pinecones to the said dwarf.

Fili swiftly grabbed it, toying with it in his hand, as to not burn himself, before taking aim and throwing it towards the enemies on the floor. Within only a matter of time, more pinecones flew, and the floor turned from green to yellow, the smoke of the fire coloring the sky warm. Azog roared in anger upon the sight of his companions burning.

The dwarves began cheering, and Raewyn dared to let out a little laugh, but as they did so, the tree began to shift, losing its footing as it fell from the floor, now dangling over the edge of a cliff.

Raewyn was one of the lucky ones to end up on the trunk, but the rest of the company had now been helplessly drooping from the tree, trying to get back up. Azog let out a dark laugh at them, nearing the fallen tree.

Now Thorin had pushed himself up, looking over at his enemy in pure hatred and malice. And Raewyn knew that look, for it had been the same look she had held only minutes prior. But she would not stop him. Thorin knew what he was doing. If this was to be his end, she would let him be. She had no more strength left to fight him, or even try to speak to him. She was too focused on even staying awake. The adrenaline that was shooting through her body had slowly begun to fail her.

She had not even noticed Thorin running up at Azog to take him on in a fight. Not until she saw his form flying through the air, before colliding with one of the rocks, his body now struggling to push himself up. She blinked once, twice, but what she saw in front of her had been as clear as day.

That body she saw laying on the floor was not Thorin's. Not at all. In front of her eyes, she saw the those familiar auburn locks. It was a face that had been imprinted in her memories ever since that fateful day. The face that haunted her nightmares and would keep her awake for countless nights. The manner in which the braids were worn, the tattoos that were inked on his hand, that little bracelet he wore around his wrist; the one Raewyn had gotten him for his nameday.

No, this was not Thorin. This was her father. And the sight of it caused her heart to nearly stop beating.

It was only when she heard Fili scream for his uncle, that she realized that that was not her father. No. It was the man responsible for his death. He deserved it. After everything he put her through, he deserved to be punished.

"Thorin!" She heard Fili shout again, followed by his brother's plea.

"Thorin! No!" Kili begged.

Yes, he deserved it. But they did not.

So she ran. She ran as quick as her leg would allow her, ignoring the white spots appearing in front of her sight as her heavy head nearly caused her to fall over. Confliction hit her deep, as she knew Thorin would never stop hating her, but she would not let Fili and Kili go through the pain she had to suffer with. If she would be the only one to be the bigger person here, then so be it.

Before Azog could even open his mouth, Raewyn had launched herself onto him, hitting his warg with sword, though it merely sliced him, instead of the impaling that she had been going for. Azog fell off of the creature, alerting the orc that had walked up to Thorin.

Raewyn ran from the creature as she held her hands onto her sword, now aiming at Azog again. Before the orc could even stand up, Raewyn had returned to attacking him, throwing her sword down at the fallen orc.

Azog raised his arm in response, shielding himself from the woman's movements. Raewyn's hold on her sword slowly began to break, as her body slowly began to shut down. She knew what she was doing was useless, and that she would only be postponing Thorin's death sentence, but she had to try. Perhaps she could yet find some way to get herself out of this.

When Azog noticed the struggling of the ranger, he chuckled darkly, baring his teeth at the young woman, before kicking his feet from him, delivering a harsh blow to Raewyn's stomach, making her stumble back, dropping her sword as her hand rushed to her stomach, the pain of her leg shooting up rapidly as her knees finally gave out.

The white orc raised to his feet, picking up the Asha's weapon before chucking it towards the cliff, the blade nearly falling off of the platform. Raewyn stared at the weapon, silently praying it would not fall down.

She heard the orc that had earlier been at Thorin's side approaching her. His sword was drawn, the tip of it coming dangerously close to Raewyn's head.

She would not go out like this. She couldn't. But there was nothing she could do. The muscles in her legs began to burn, no longer being able to support her weight, even as she was sitting up. Her vision was wavering, and the stinging in her hand has begun to affect her entire arm.

She could not fight back. Even if she wanted to. The orc looked down at her in pure hatred, as Azog was watching from a distance, an ominous smile on his face as he watched the Asha's supposed ending.

Supposed.

For a hobbit had suddenly decided to throw himself at the orc that was going to kill Raewyn, stabbing the creature a couple of times before stumbling up, standing in front of the ranger, who had so desperately tried to stay awake.

Azog growls in anger at the actions, staring at the small hobbit. Bilbo wildly swung his dagger, holding his head high as he tried to ignore the searing fear trembling through his body. Had he told himself he would be standing face to face with a creature from his nightmares, only weeks ago, he would have never believed it.

But here he was. Guarding Raewyn's life with his own. She, who had saved his on many occasions. And it was time he returned the favor.

Orcs began to close in around the two fallen bodies, and the one standing hobbit. They all held their weapons out threateningly, nearly making Bilbo wish he could just sink into the floor. But if Raewyn had taught him anything, it would be to never let any fear show. To be above it. Scare the fear off, as she had told him one night.

Be bigger than that what scares you.

And so he would. But he would not have to do it alone.

Shouts of war and protest came from the dwarves as they ran towards the orcs, slashing them down as they stood to protect their company members. And for a short minute, it appeared as though they were winning. The dwarves cut down multiple wargs, destroying the orcs in their way, but their numbers only grew, instead of the expected shrinking. And the dwarves were merely numbered ten, their leader having fallen down, while Ori and Dori were literally hanging on by a hand.

And now the orcs had the upper hand again. And defeat had been nigh.

Up until a loud shrieking filled the air. Enormous eagles had appeared in the sky, throwing their enemies down the cliff as they forced the fire to spread quicker. The giant bird-like creatures had begun picking up the dwarves, carrying them to safety. Raewyn, who had barely been awake to witness it, squinted her eyes at the sight, not quite believing what she was seeing. Travelling with Gandalf was bound to show her some magical things, but never before had she ever witness the eagles of Aule. Not with her own eyes.

And it would be the last thing she saw, before everything turned black for her. Before she lost her grip on reality, and slipped off into her unconsciousness.

——

Never had Bilbo been so frightened. The realization of what he had just done began to sink in, bringing fresh goosebumps to his arms. His encounter with Gollum, the discovering of his Ring, the fight between Raewyn and Thorin, and of course, his confrontation with Azog.

But what might have scared him more, was the fact that Raewyn had not lifted her head once since the eagles had carried the company to safety.

Not once, has he had a friend that cared for him like she did. Someone who truly looked out for him. And even as they might have met only a few weeks, maybe months ago, the place she held in his heart had been special and close. She might have only been one of the only reasons Bilbo stuck around for as long as he did.

Because, no matter how much he hated everything that had happened; she made him feel safe. He felt as if he was guaranteed a trip home as long as she would be there to protect him. And seeing that shield as defenseless as now had scared him more than it had perhaps scared Gandalf.

After a dreadful flight, the eagles finally settled down on top of a massive rocked, shaped like a bear. The eagles that had carried Thorin and Raewyn landed first, dropping them off carefully, before circling around the rock to give space for the others to land.

Gandalf immediately rushed towards Thorin, placing a hand on top of the dwarf's head before muttering a quiet spell. As the dwarf slowly began to wake up, Gandalf smiled in accomplishment, giving him space to move, before walking over to Raewyn, repeating the same procedure.

"The halfling?" Thorin asks weakly, slowly sitting up as his companions assisted him.

"It's alright. Bilbo is here. He is quite safe." Gandalf reassured, smiling at Bilbo, who had been uncomfortably watching the wizard work on his friend. Thorin stood up at the sight, stumbling over to Raewyn, who too, had slowly began to awaken.

"What of the Asha?" He asked gruffly, looking down at the woman, who was stirring lightly.

"She will need time to heal, but she will survive. She has had worse." The grey pilgrim explained, before taking a swift, nearly unnoticeable look towards Kili, who had been anxiously waiting behind the hobbit, clinging onto Raewyn's sword, which he managed to catch before being swept off his feet by the eagles.

The ranger groaned as her eyes adjusted to the light, carefully pushing herself upright as to sit.

"I believe thanks are in order." Thorin admitted quietly, nodding her head at her. Raewyn gave him a hesitant nod back, standing up as she used a nearby rock as support.

"I do not want your gratitude, for I do not deserve it." She confessed to the dwarven king, her face scanning the crowd, before resting on Kili's eyes. Those eyes that someone managed to bring her that sense of belonging. Even if it had just been for one person.

"If it had been the two of us on that cliff, I would have left you there. But I could not do that to Fili and Kili." She sighed, now looking back at Thorin, who for once, did not hold his look of hatred towards the ranger.

"I know what it's like to lose your kin at a young age." She resumed. "And I would not wish that upon anyone else. Especially not upon them. So if you were to thank anyone, thank your nephews. Don't thank me."

Thorin remained silent at her words, not quite knowing how to respond. Raewyn could have continued speaking to him, trying to somehow still find a way to accept his gratitude. But she didn't. Instead, she turned to Bilbo, placing her hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at her.

"You possess more courage than what you dare tell yourself, Bilbo Baggins." She began, rubbing her thumb on his shirt gently. "You should be proud of yourself. Truly. What you did back there was a brave thing. And I owe you my life."

Bilbo blushed at Raewyn's kind words, the sudden kind speech still vaguely unknown to his ears. Even as they shared so many fun conversations.

"I-I think you saved my life more times than I saved yours." He tried to cover up.

"Still, it was a courageous thing to do, and I will not forget it. Thank you, Bilbo." She whispered, nodding her head, before dropping her hand from his shoulder.

"Bilbo is the reason either of us are still standing." She now spoke to Thorin. "He saved my life on that cliff. Had it not been for him, we would not be here."

Thorin now advanced towards the hobbit, though his steps were not as threateningly as they usually were.

"I was wrong to tell you you had no place amongst us, master burglar." The leader spoke whole-heartedly, showing him an incredibly rare smile.

"I am sorry I doubted you." He mumbled, before pulling the hobbit into a hug, making the dwarves cheer and smile. Raewyn grinned at the sight, sitting back down as her hand shot back to the wound on her leg, the pain still not forgotten.

A cough was heard from her left side, a hilt making its way into her vision. "You left this." Kili mumbled, taking his seat beside the ranger.

Raewyn's eyes widened at the sight of her familiar sword, gratefully accepting the weapon. "Kili..." She mumbled, standing back up in order to sheathe her sword properly, smiling somewhat proudly at the well-known weight.

Kili stood back up with her, looking at her as she mesmerized the return of her sword. The rest of the dwarves had turned towards the one mountain in the distance, admiring it as they gaped at the sight. Kili's eyes, however, had not once wandered to the background. They had been on her. The entire time. And he could not help himself. He knew she was strong, but he would not deny that terrifying feeling that entered his stomach when Raewyn fell on her knees on that cliff.

Not once had he remembered ever feeling that scared. That fearful. It was a fear he never knew before. And he absolutely hated it. He despised it. It was a feeling he would curse out, even in his nightmares.

But now, here she was, standing and well. Or at least, alive. And it had lifted a huge weight off of his shoulders.

"You look beautiful." He whispered, immediately drawing Raewyn's attention. "W-with your sword." He shot after it. "It truly belongs to you. It completes the look." He defended.

"It...It looks good." He sighed.

"Thank you." Raewyn muttered back, looking down at her sword. "And thank you, for retrieving it."

Kili merely nodded at her words, forming his lips in a thin line. The ranger looked at him for a while, not quite sure on what to do.

So she did the only logical thing; she walked forward, wrapping her arms around his body as she pushed him into her, drawing him into a hug. Kili stiffened at the feeling, his hands not even touching her back as he was contemplating on where to put them. But when Raewyn made no intention to let go yet, he placed them around her waist, resting his head against hers, appreciating the hold he was in.

And it was then he realized that this is all he ever needed. He could die in her arms and he would not even mind. For her arms felt like home. A home lost long ago, but retrieved once more. A home where he felt safe no matter what. A home where she would always be.

For she was the one he knew would never leave.

END OF ACT I

——

All translated from dark speech (orcish):

Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?: Do you smell it? The scent of fear?

Ganziligi unarug obod nauzdanish, Torin undag Trainob.: I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin, son of Thrain.

Raewyn, daughavas ro Raegon: Raewyn, daughter of Raegon.

lat liwo ukuffas: You will suffer

Kod, Toragid biriz.: These two are mine.

Wororida!: Kill the others!

Sho gad adol!: Drink their blood!

——

Taglist: @errruvande @justnerdystuffs @fallenangeloflight @radbarbariancupcake @spidergirla5 @m-sterboggins @deathofafangirl01 @writingawaymylife

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Chapter 15

Oooh, Audra's deepest darkest secret becomes known and puts her that much closer to danger of entrapment while the Voyambi's have to admit the ugly truth of their current view of their own heritage vs their station in English society.

@punkhorse96 GURL. Buckle up Buttercup because we are almost getting to the peak of this roller coaster. Because the Komoba battle will be the peak, the court case- the fall and then it's the throws and twists and lurches to follow.

Also Stregabor from the Witcher? Who else could play the most devious of mages? Who else I ask you? Who?

Blood For Gold

Chapter 15

“Oh there you are Axal, I need you for just a moment.” Yalin insisted as she saw him leave his rooms, having waited outside of them for the last half hour for him to emerge since she had gotten up extra early to catch Axal at the earliest moment possible.

“Is everything alright?” He asked as she grabbed ahold of his hand and drug him down the hallway.

“Yes, yes, of course, it’s fine, I just need a private word with you.” She did her best to reassure him but Axal could sense her panic before she pulled him into a spare room and dismissed the servants in the hall so their ears could not eavesdrop.

“Do you have any affection for Ramsey? I need you to be completely honest and transparent.” Yalin pressed.

“I do.” Axal slowly nodded as he frowned deeply in confusion at her, not knowing where she was going to go with such a line of questioning.

“Then I need your help to find him a wife as soon as possible.” Yalin insisted.

“Uh, I don’t..quite..” Axal frowned deeper.

“Axal, I will be perfectly frank and honest with you, Gregori has long had his eye on your sister Audra for Ramsey ever since Ramsey said that she was the only one for him at her wedding to Count Edward Morrigan of all places.” Yalin began. “And it is clear that Audra has no interest in him and I have already given Audra my word to protect her from a marriage of convenience but little love and I fully intend to keep my word, but before Gregori has a chance to pressure her into a match she will find no joy or happiness in, I need to find another for Ramsey. Do you know of anyone, anywhere, in any court who could both be a lady of good wealth, breeding and most of all availability?” Yalin pressed him as Axal simply blinked in surprise at her as realization seemed to dawn on him.

“I must be clear, I have no issue with you having affection or attachment or romantic entanglements with Ramsey. And Audra seems happy for your happiness. And I know she must love you. And I know she would rather much leave Ramsey’s heart to your care than her own. But Gregori has his mind made up and I need someone who will satisfy Gregori’s need for an heir from Ramsey, so that leaves your sister free to pursue a union with another who can give her the love and care she deserves without the expectation of an heir because such endeavors would endanger her life, but...you see what bind we are in.” Yalin expressed.

“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I have already reached out to Lady Octavia Lafronze, she’s only 27, she can still bear a child or a few even, she has a companion who can pose as my own wife if we need to keep a ruse going for the public. She will be here only the day before the Komoba battle. She’s on her way already. Audra knows of my attachment to Ramsey and until Octavia can get here, she has agreed to “play along” until then and even Ramsey has agreed to switch his “interest” when she does arrive. And Lady Octavia will fill our need. We just need to be patient.” Axal revealed.

“Oh thank the heavens.” Yalin breathed in relief as she leaned against a nearby table and clutched her middle.

“Ok, so here is the other thing. Audra’s case against the Morrigans, I don’t know if it would be best to go forward. I fear it may be more troublesome than it’s worth and whatever justice that Audra has already gotten, I fear that is all she may ever receive.” Yalin hinted.

“Audra prizes her peace. She may not want to revisit the past and rehash and open up old wounds. I will feel her out on this.” Axal reassured her.

“Thank you.” Yalin nodded as she blew out another breath of relief before Yalin gave him a reassuring squeeze to his hand before she hastily made it out of the room and quickly went down to breakfast before an attendant came and handed Axal a note, instructions to him written by his grandmother as Axal nodded and quickly asked for directions to where he had just been instructed to meet with the rest of his family before he went back into his room to get redressed in the approrpriate attire.

By the time Yalin got down to breakfast, hardly anyone was there.

“Where is everyone?” Yalin asked as it seemed that only the Voyambi’s and the Raymonds were at breakfast before Jane came into breakfast and sat down next to Charlotte.

“Jane dear, do you know where Audra and her family are this morning?” Yalin inquired.

“Yes, Audra’s grandmother got her up quite early this morning and they asked for breakfast to be brought to the gardens, they are all preparing for the kamoba battle. Apparently they all plan on participating.” Jane answered.

“Ah, that...that does explain it.” Yalin realized as she sat down as she noticed all the Voyambi youngsters seem to eagerly inhale their food before excusing themselves from the table, Ramsey and Charlotte included, leaving just Jane with the Duke and Duchess Voyambi and Gregori and Yalin.

“Do you not wish to see the training yourself?” Duchess Voyambi asked her curiously once Jane was invited to sit closer to them towards the head of the table.

“No, for the last two years I have watched Audra continue her training in private, although my parents forbade her from actually wielding any weapons, she was able to practice with sticks in the gardens and practice the drills in her room after waking up and before going to bed. Mouras take physical fitness to an extreme, even the women are trained like soldiers.” Jane explained.

“Like the orcish shield maidens of old.” Duchess Voyambi noted to her husband with a grin which he soon mirrored.

"And warchieftesses too." Duke Voyambi grinned.

“It is quite the spectacle. I remember watching my Dearest train for hours before the battle, even the exercises are quite intense.” Gregori noted with a sweet adoring smile to his wife that she did her best to return but Gregori could see something in her eyes and that her smile did not reach them as he gave her a curious look before she quickly looked away and blushed just a little under his scrutiny.

“Well it’s been ages since I even tried the exercises, I think it would do me good just to try to see how much I still remember.” Yalin said as she excused herself from the table after eating only a few bites, to get redressed into the more appropriate attire as Gregori got up and followed his wife before Jane excused herself from the table as well, leaving the Duke and Duchess Voyambi to sit in bewilderment.

“What is troubling you Dearest?” Gregori asked as he helped loosen the ties of her corset and untie her dress from her body.

“You are.” Yalin confessed.

“How do I trouble you?” Gregori asked before Yalin turned around and faced him.

“Audra drank a gallon of mourkatili. A gallon of it Gregori. With such a dosage, it is a miracle she is even alive. She is tainted and poisoned beyond repair. She can not bear Ramsey heirs and Ramsey needs a legitimate heir and woman of good breeding and nobility to give it to him. Likewise, Audra deserves a mate who can be loyal and faithful to her and I know her well enough that she will not put up with disloyalty in her marriage mate. She deserves faithfulness and devotion in all things. She has suffered more than enough as it is and before the ball at Havenfield, she came to me at the Gold Finch and asked me to guide her to a match who would treat her with kindness, respect, reverence, loyalty, devotion and faithfulness.” Yalin insisted.

“Do you think Ramsey incapable of giving such things to her?” Gregori posed.

“Yes, because he is already giving those things to her brother, which Audra is actually happy about. It would make her miserable to know that Ramsey would have to choose between Axal and herself and she would much rather have Axal be with Ramsey privately. But publicly, she can not be expected to act the perfect wife in public but in secret to know that she would share her husband with her brother of all people. And separating Axal from Ramsey would hurt all three of them. You and Ramsey both need to give up on the idea of Audra being Ramsey’s future wife and we need to consider other possibilities and I gave Audra my word that I would guard her against a marriage such as that and I have every intention of keeping my word. She is not the same woman who her master makes her out to be. She has suffered and changed too much at the hands of the Morrigans and she can not produce heirs. She is of no use to us, she is a dear girl but she is a lost cause.” Yalin maintained, choosing her words carefully.

“Oh I disagree, I think this palace is the perfect place for her and she’s plenty useful still, I think she’s finding her stride here and just because she can’t have heirs, doesn’t mean she can’t mother Ramsey’s illegitimate heirs to adopt them and make them legitimate and Axal is free to stay and keep Ramsey company as long as Audra plays her part publicly. She can have whatever affairs she wishes to have, because such seed taking root is obviously null and void.” Gregori readily shook his head no in friendly disagreement.

“How?! How in the world, is she still of use to us?” Yalin demanded.

“Dear, did you not get enough sleep last night? You aren’t thinking this through or not seeing this clearly then. We can use her treatment from the Morrigan’s hand to win over all of their fortune to her in court. You read the letter from the Mage, we have more than enough proof to string them up in the town square. She’s still an heiress of a great fortune and breeding.” Gregori insisted.

“But what of Jane? Of young Count Edward the third Morrigan? Jane is only a teenager and the young count is still a child. What would become of them?” Yalin asked.

“Audra has a good heart, she has affection for Jane, she will make sure Jane is taken care of and of course Jane, by Audra’s insistence is innocent. Besides Audra’s brother seems to like her enough. I’m sure he could always play the hero and take her and her little brat of a brother with him back to Dorierra to live happily ever after and save her from her monstrous parents and the Morrigans can be made an example of. Think of all the gossip papers you will sell telling everyone all about it.” Gregori incited.

“But what if Audra does not want that? Doesn’t want to be in our family? We can not force her to marry Ramsey just because you want her wealth and the court may not do as you say, we can’t afford to buy off every judge and juror to win it in Audra’s favor and the Morrigans have enough wealth to appeal it to the highest of courts where such measures are forbidden.” Yalin pressed anxiously.

“Oh once she sees all the benefits of being in the second most powerful family in England, no woman can resist. A life of lavish luxury with only having to smile and wave and play the tiniest of parts to enjoy it. The komoba battle will reawaken every moura instinct she has, she will see reason and see that our family is the only family she needs or should want to be a part of.” Gregori insisted as he kissed his wife’s knuckles sweetly before he called for her attendants to help her get dressed as she stood there in only her shift, her clothes long since fallen off to the floor.

“I’ll see you down in the gardens Dearest. Don’t worry about a thing, I have it all under control.” Gregori reassured his wife sweetly as Yalin just stared in thinly veiled horror at his back. She knew her husband well, he was not going to be easily swayed and she feared of what other measures he had already taken in the endeavour.

Gregori left and immediately went down to see you in particular as Demsey and his own brothers had gotten changed into appropriate fencing attire so that they could participate as well since Demsey and his siblings, his brothers especially had done nothing but gawk at you and the other mouras in small, very form fitting white work out clothes and bits of white leather armour in places in the outfit.

Demsey had thought he had walked into a fevered dream, watching you wield a sword and a small shield like a true shield maiden and every orc instinct had been screaming at him that at last, he had found a true warchieftess and he needed to show off to you his own fighting ability, as limited as it was compared to the other fighting styles you were clearly displaying. Being in high society, he was used to fencing and shooting, but that was the extent of it. Some of the common orcs still held brawling battles with the weapons of wars of old, like battle axes and broadswords and the like in the clan halls, but such things were seen as unseemly to the orcs in higher society and seen as barbaric and Demsey and his family as well as the other orcs in high society had made efforts to distance themselves from the “common” orcs in such things in order to be accepted by the rest of the gentry.

But now- seeing the style of which mouras fought- the style similarities were clear and perfectly natural. However the manner of the komoba fighting was much more aggressive and meant for a battlefield, meant to actually slay and kill your opponent, with the match only ending when it was clear that the opponent would be one pass from a weapon away from decapitating or dismembering the opponent with blows that would kill the other in quick succession. It was both beautiful in it’s violence, devastating in efficiency but yet had a dramatic flair that was impossible to resist being drawn in to see how each match would play out, where fencing played out on a thin strip of space, this was set in an octagon shape. The spaces lined out with paint in the grass itself.

One had to have a keen eye and lightning fast reflexes to strike and counter strike and the weapons, although these were made of wood or very dull metals, they were dipped in paint to show all the blows and strikes and “kills” that shown up on the white leather armour of the participants with barrels of water and cloths to wipe away the paint after each match with buckets and buckets of paint for the weapons to be painted in- in every color of the rainbow and then some.

Your paint color of choice was a brilliant turquoise and Demsey had watched with eager anticipation how when sparring with your grandmother- whose color was a brilliant copper orange- how your grandmother who was clearly the master and teacher of the group, all others taking instruction from her.

At first she had simply gone over the drills with you, all of you sitting in grid pattern, doing the exercises and drills with your grandmother staying close to you, using surprising gentleness in her critique, offering just as much praise as she did censure about your form of the various stretching poses and fighting poses as she was the first to spar with you, seeing how much you had remembered and how much your body remembered and how much you had lost over the last two years of neglecting the practice.

At one point she had blindfolded you and had short staff and a longer one in each hand and walked around you and occasionally would gently tap at your body to signify attacks, some of them light, some of them more forceful, to see how you reacted, evaded and counterattacked, leaning on your other senses besides sight to do so and Demsey had never seen anything more captivating and it made him ache and yearn to be a part of it, thus, the fencing attire, he and his brothers now sported.

Not even boxing fighters in a ring had so much contact with their opponents as this style of fighting did. Sometimes the key was to keep the enemy at a distance, other times it was to get as close as physically possible to deliver the devastating blow, sometimes it even involved grappling and pinning the other to the ground first. It struck Demsey to see the methods and philosophy behind each move and style of fighting and how it seemed to encompass everything and style and way of thinking and how there was clearly an array and a scale to it. Some of the styles were very simple, others- much more complicated but when blended made something awe inspiring.

Gregori had watched the match with your grandmother until she noticed that Gregori seemed to be waiting to speak with you and ended the session for the moment so that you could speak with him in private.

“Yes?” You asked Gregori as he pulled you aside and took your arm into the crook of his elbow after you had wiped off all the copper paint from your body so that none would get on Gregori or his clothes.

“How are you liking things here at the palace?” Gregori asked.

“It’s a palace, everything is exquisite.” You answered pleasantly, already on guard as you could tell Gregori was about to try his best to sell his son to you as a husband.

“Has everything been to your liking so far?” Gregori asked.

“Yes,” you nodded as you smiled politely.

“Could I speak candidly with you?” He asked politely.

“Please do, I thoroughly enjoy honest and candid conversation.” You encouraged him.

“I understand that from partaking in mourkatili, even with as high of a dose as you have been forced to partake in, that your reproductive abilities are hindered.” He began.

“That...is true.” You nodded, even though in truth you had tried to take pains to use eastern medicine to recapture it. But you could not be sure of your results.

“I want you to know that if you and Ramsey were to ever enter into a romantic attachment that you should know that we would never, ever, expect you to mother heirs. Your life is worth more than any hiers you would risk your life trying to bear.” Gregori assured you.

“...ok.” You blinked in surprise as you frowned in confusion, which was utterly adorable.

“You see Ramsey has had several lovers and already has many illegitimate heirs and if you were to ever marry, you could always save those illegitimate heirs and make them legitimate by adopting them. It would bring them out of poverty and give them the lives they rightly deserve but yet, Yalin and I, our hands are tied so to speak to do any better for them than we already have.” Gregori explained.

“And I understand that your brother and Ramsey have already become attached and it would only be right that he should remain by your side, to live out his days to make sure that you never again suffer and both of you could live perfectly comfortably and happily here with us.” Gregori offered.

“But such a life...it would not be honest,” you began to softly and gently counter.

“But it would be fair. So far the investigation with the Morrigans have found solid evidence and proof of their attempts to murder you. The courts will surely award all that they have to you for recompense. We have the power to make that happen. We can elevate you to that of Dauphine in English society and as a Dowager among the stables. We can get you justice and revenge for what you’ve suffered. We had a mage help with the investigation. He found your scene catcher spell, with the password, we can have all we need on Agnes and Richard.” Gregori revealed as you blinked in surprise as fear seemed to bloom in your chest. If they had already broken the password, you could be finished.

“But Jane and I corrupted some of the feed. The moment of Edward’s death, he was in the act of…” Your voice broke as even now tears came to your eyes at the horror and violence of the moment came flooding back to your mind. “He was in the act...of raping me and he had….he had a heart attack and died. It was so horrific. I had Jane help me strike it from the record. So just by that alone, it’s corrupted and it’s been tampered with. It won’t hold up in court.” You confessed lowly as your big gold eyes welled with tears.

“Just that admittance alone is enough to justify why that isn’t in the record, the judge will allow it and allow the rest of it to stand on its own and it will be taken as gospel and if there is anything else that you would like to keep from it to preserve your own integrity and dignity. That will be allowed as well. You are a lady after all. Not everyone needs to see every little thing, this investigation is to expose the Morrigans, not you.” Gregori reassured you.

“But what about Jane and little Eddie?” You asked.

“It is clear that you wish to protect them, that is truly amiable despite their parent’s treatment of you. I believe your brother Ocearian can save Jane from the shame of what her parents have done. She is, as you say, innocent. Ocearian I’m sure will happily take Jane home to Dorierra and with her- little Edward.”

“What if I want Jane to have her fair share of her family’s wealth? I don’t want to leave her or her brother with nothing and no choice but to flee to Dorierra. What if they wish to stay here in England. Could I at least leave Broadcove to Jane and Edward?” You asked.

“If that is your wish. Of course, it will be all available to you do as you wish with it.” Gregori agreed.

“Do you need my answer now, or can I think it over?” You asked him.

“Think on it as long as you need to, no rash decisions need to be made today.” Gregori reassured you gently which you greatly appreciated.

“Then do you have a piece of paper?” You asked him before he produced a small notebook and a small pencil.

“This is the password to most of it, it should give everyone all they need for the court case.” You said.

“Excellent, I shall get my best men on this, you will get justice and your just rewards for your pain and suffering, I swear and promise you.” Gregori grinned victoriously as he kissed your temple the same way his own daughter before he left again and you returned to the others.

“What was that about?” Axal asked you.

“Gregori asked for one of the keys to my ace. I gave a small one to him.” You hinted as you dabbed at your eyes as you steeled yourself for what was to come, both in the battle and in the court case afterwards.

“So you’re going through with the court case? What about your precious peace?” Axal asked.

“I’ve had a year of it. After this court case, I’ll have a lifetime of it.” You said as you got your wooden weapons redipped in your preferred paint.

“But what was his price for it?” Axal asked.

“That IF Ramsey and I were to ever get married, that I would consider adopting his illegitimate heirs and share Ramsey with you, whereas you would get to live with me and “protect” me from further abuse here. I didn’t give an answer one way or another and all I told him was that I would carefully consider it.” You reassured him before you got into sparring positions with Axal.

“And when Octavia comes, I’m sure she’ll happily comply with those terms as well.” You offered as you blocked his attack and counter attacked with ease. “Just make sure Ramsey knows to put on a good show of being captivated by her and wanting her and only her when she does come so I can get off clean.” You insisted as you dipped and dodged his attack and struck a gut blow with your shorter “dagger” on his middle.

“I will.” Axal reassured you.

“And what will you do with your hundreds of thousands of pounds?” Axal asked.

“Share them with Jane so that she is taken care of as well, hell I’ll even give Octavia a share of it, if it means I don’t have to marry Ramsey and you for that matter so that you can care for Octavia’s lover as your own wife.” You readily offered.

“Because I’m sure Yalin and Gregori only wish to see Ramsey happy, and once they see that I can not make him so and that you and Octavia can in all respects, then that can settle the matter.” You insisted.

“But what about Duke Demsey, won’t he need an heir?” Axal questioned as he used his shoulder to knock you away and off balance before you regained it.

“He does, that is what gives me pause. I do not think his affection for me may outweigh his own obligations and duty to his family. But we are still only friends. He may not wish for anything more from me. There may be another he has his eye on anyway, I will just have to wait and see. For all I know, I’m offending him even now. Proper English ladies do not participate in hunting or fencing or anything like that. It’s unladylike. So the fact that I know swordsmanship may be turning him off of me as we speak, look, even his own sisters sit by the side and only watch and do not participate themselves.” You mused as Axal and yourself finished your own sparring to rest and take a breath of air as you sat in the shade of a nearby tree and watched the others spar as you sat side by side.

“He’s an orc, his orcish heritage means shieldmaidens and warchieftesses are coveted. If anything I think you’re turning him onto you now more than any other. You were too focused on sparring with Grandma to notice how he was practically drooling and because of that, he was the first to insist that he dress in fencing attire to properly take part in all of this. He’s a decent swordsman, but that is all he is. He has no other skills, at least any that I can see.” Axal mused as he watched Demsey and Sierge fence each other in the very English style.

“In this society, he doesn’t need any other skills besides those, and even though they have that past, clearly they don’t embrace it in the present.” You shrugged as you again nodded over to where Amara, Kiera and little Callie watched on.

“Do you like English society?” Axal asked.

“It has its quirks and moments, rules of etiquette are extensive and date back to the medieval period for most of it and they like to pride themselves for having “polite, civilized and polished society”. But with industrialization, their business practices can be barbaric and ruthless, some men make or lose their fortunes in weeks or months, bask in the sunlight one moment or be shattered on the rocks the next with the tides. There are terms like “old money” and “new money”. The Morrigans have the old noble heritage even though most of their wealth has been amassed fairly recently, just in the last two generations. But the Morrigans are considered “old money” and the Voyambi’s are considered “new money” only because they’ve had their noble title and wealth within the last three generations. Their classed society makes movement restricted and women are property of their fathers then their husbands and I’ve seen women in this society choose peace over their dignity because while they are expected to be at home and run the home, their husbands are expected to bring income yet can splurge most of that income into gambling or whores or misstresses of plenty, even Richard has several whores, his favorite lives in Broadcove and his little bastards are being trained as stable boys and game keepers or gardeners, he keeps her to her appartment of rooms like a parrot to it's cage and his illegitamate daughters are being brought up to be ladies maids in the house in fact my first paid companion was his eldest illegetimate daughter came with me to Mirador as my own maid because I felt sorry for the way Agnes always treated her, in fact most of Richard's bastards followed me to Mirador because I treated them like people. Who had no power over who their father was. It is wholly barbaric in of itself. But because that is the norm, it makes competition to find a gentlemen in both name, status and breeding important, but of character- with how polite society and it’s customs dictate, it’s a gamble and true happiness in marriage is a chance. Not a given,. And what a man may be like in public may not be the same kind of man in private. Yalin and Gregori seem to be the exception, not the rule.” You admitted as Axal blinked in surprise at your revelation.

“Do you think you’d be happy with Demsey though?” Axal pressed.

“I honestly don’t know, we get along and we are friends and we have moments where possibilities threaten to ignite but something keeps it from actually doing so. I tried feeling him out last night to see if he would be open to anything and he...he was withdrawn and wouldn’t...he would not make himself available in spirit, he was...he was closed off to me, even with drink in hand, I could feel it in his energy, he was missing someone. He really had to push himself to stay with me mentally- in the moment. Which makes me think that there might be someone else that has caught his mind and heart, who is not Kate Whitesale, or me. But someone else, someone in the past. Maybe one of his workers, maybe one of his secretaries, maybe his favorite maid at Whydah. But polite society means I can not ask him about any of it or even his sisters who would be offended at me implying anything by asking while being none the wiser and completely unaware of their brother’s private lives and are purposefully kept in the dark about almost all of it." You sighed in defeat as Axal just stared in bittersweet fondness at you.

"And who am I to demand answers to such questions from him? He has made no declaration of intent towards me other than friendship. He has only stated that he wishes to be my friend. That is all he has said. And that is all his actions have said as well, at least so far. And I have no choice but to take him at his word. But the longer Demsey and his brothers participate but his sisters do not, makes me think that the same applies even in their family, even with them being orcs, notorious the world over for their proficiency and fierceness in battle even evenly among the sexes, which again leads to be believe that I offend him in the knowledge that I can fend for myself physically.” You confessed lowly to Axal before Demsey approached.

“You fence well Demsey.” You praised as you noticed he was drenched in sweat already and smelled wholly delicious as the very inappropriate thought of licking some of that sweat off of him popped into your head before you tried to swish it away mentally as you damned your own body for it's natural physical reaction to him.

“Thank you, I didn’t know if you had noticed, I know my skill can hardly compete with your own.” He praised which surprised you.

“Well you could always spar with her. See for yourself.” Axal suggested as you turned and looked at Axal incredulously.

“I would be honored.” Demsey readily agreed.

“Are you sure?” You asked Demsey.

“Yes, I’m sure I could learn several, if not dozens or even hundreds of things from you, if you would be willing to teach me.” Demsey insisted as you blinked in surprise as your jaw fell, leaving your mouth just slightly agape, just a little as your mouth ran dry as your brain once again was eager to supply all of the things you’d like to teach him, like making love to you right for starters, before Axal practically pushed you towards Demsey who offered his hand to you to help you up off the ground before you took his hand and let him help you to your feet.

“You would not feel emasculated or embarrassed if I bested you?” You asked. “I do not wish to embarrass you, especially in front of your family or mine.” You whispered to him as you walked with him back to the group.

“Not at all. You are granddaughter to the Great Saharan Viper, and her most prized pupil, how could I possibly be embarrassed to lose to such a champion?” He flattered you as you blushed and smiled bashfully and had the ground had the slightest bit of unevenness, you probably would have tripped and fallen straight onto your face.

“But my skills are rusty, I have not held a sword in two years. I may have forgotten most of it.” You tried to excuse.

“Audra, you will not hurt my pride, do not disparage yourself. I was watching you, you have retained more skill than I think you give yourself credit for. It’s like riding a horse, once you learn, you never fully forget and the style is most intriguing to say the least, so what color should my weapons be dipped in?” He encouraged you as he stood with you in front of the other buckets of bright color paints.

“Whichever strikes your fancy, and whichever you like best.” You shrugged before he chose a wonderful purple color that was a nice contrast to your own turquoise.

“Are you sure you want to try this? The rules of komoba are wholly different from the fencing you are used to. Because all those rules that fencing prides itself on- get thrown out and no longer apply, the object is to strike down your opponent by any means necessary, using everything you have to your own advantage and what can get you disqualified in fencing get you a win in komoba.” You gently warned him.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, komoba is...everything a proper fighting sport should be, realistic with real battlefield applications, fencing is pointless on a real battlefield.” Demsey reassured you and once again those butterflies started fluttering in your stomach as your heart fluttered delightfully as your smile turned bashful once again and your cheeks flushed beautifully. It seemed Demsey’s own reserve the night before- had seemed to vanish now as a new boldness seemed to take hold of him and you adored it.

“Then why don’t you use the battle axes that orcs are supposed to be so fond of?” You questioned only to see him falter slightly.

“Um, well, I’ve...never had an opportunity or reason to wield one before. My grandfather’s from the war- they along with his armor hang on the wall, and the late king gifted my grandfather a golden enamelled set but they are strictly decorative.” He revealed.

“So...you have no experience with any other weapons besides the swords of the fencing variety?” You asked him.

“Not even broadswords or longswords or…” You asked him in confusion as Demsey’s shoulders sagged in shame as his head dropped a bit as he had to shake his head no.

“No, the commoner orcs still practice such things in the clan halls and of course soldiers do. But since my family and others who are in the gentry, we do not partake in such things and take pains to distance ourselves from such things for fear of others in the gentry to view us as “barbaric” too.” Demsey confessed lowly.

“But do you think such things are barbaric?” You asked worriedly because if Demsey thought komoba was “barbaric” you were going to force yourself to lose interest in him because you were sick of having to divorce yourself from your own moura heritage, you had done it enough with the Morrigans, never again would you do it, you had sworn yourself an oath.

“No. I think it’s part of our history that we should be proud of. In fact I insisted that Whydah have a proper gymnasium to take up the practices again, granted in private because to do so publicly would damage our reputation.” Demsey tried to explain as his cheeks flushed into a deep pine green.

“But komoba is by far the most elevated form of fighting in the world. And it’s a sport I wish I had much more experience with and I wish I could build a proper komoba battle ground at Whydah so that we could take up the sport there too.” Demsey offered, trying his best to not to sound as hypocritical as he felt.

“Well, I’m biased but I feel the same way, that komoba is the best form of fighting however I can understand the need to protect one’s reputation. The Morrigans forbade me from holding any kind of weapon, often instructing the chefs to serve my dinner to me precut so that I would not wield so much as a dinner knife because they thought my komoba training was unladylike and uncouth and would tarnish the Morrigan name and wished to divorce me from it and any other parts of my moura heritage that didn’t fit the more proper “English” lifestyle.” You explained.

“And such measures are an egregious sin, no one should be so divorced from their own heritage, especially when such a heritage is so rich in tradition and color and splendor.” Demsey tried to praise as you just shook your head because clearly Demsey had done the same to himself and his own heritage.

“So, obviously, you clearly resent their efforts in thus.” Demsey realized from your tone since it had sounded pretty resentful to him which gave him hope that he could seperate himself in your mind and make himself as appealing as possible because he wanted to accept you and your heritage with open arms.

“I do. Which is why I’m surprised you asked to spar with me.” You noted.

“Why?” He asked curiously.

“Because while you are eager to learn the komoba style from me, I see that your sisters sit on the side lines, watching with eager eyes and jealousy to watch Benny and Calla and their siblings as well as myself and my own siblings of both genders take part in the komoba training. And it makes me wonder if you or your parents would be taking the same stance with them learning it as well. Orcs are known to have shield maidens and warcheiftesses do they not? Or does your family also wish to distance itself from that history in order to embrace the more proper “English” ways? Especially in it's womenfolk?” You questioned as Demsy looked at you in shock yet realization as he looked from you to his sisters and back to you again as once again, shame and embarrassment began to eat at him.

“Audra, please, please forgive me, I didn’t even think...or consider...any of that. If you will excuse me for just a moment, I need to rectify this, immediately.” Demsey realized as he put his weapons down in the grass and immediately left and went over to his sisters who were sitting under a canopy to protect them from the morning sun.

“What’s wrong? I thought you looked to be just about to get your wish and get a chance to spar with Audra?” Amara asked curiously.

“I was...until she brought it to my attention of how unfair it is that Sierge, Tzane and I are trying to partake and participate but that you and Kiera and Callie are being excluded and it isn’t right. You all should feel just as welcome and just as included to participate in this as we are.” Demsey insisted to his eldest sister.

“Thank you! Finally!” Kiera exclaimed exasperated before she got up and went over to Benny and asked if Benny had an extra set of komoba clothes as Amara smiled happily and did the same with Calla as Callie bravely went up to you as you readily agreed to let her borrow your own spares as all of you re-entered the castle to get redressed just as the Duke and Duchess Voyambi left the palace to join everyone in the gardens as Yalin also emerged wearing her own day komoba battle clothes from her youth, although she did have to be squeezed and cinched into them because her body had changed a fair bit since her youth.

“So where are you ladies off to?” Yalin asked.

“Oh the Voyambi ladies wish to also try to learn komoba with us, we were going to be lending them our spare day clothes for it.” You readily offered as the Duke and Duchess were surprisingly pleasant with the news.

“Oh of course. With such masters of the sport here, it would be a shame to not take advantage of such an opportunity.” Duke Voyambi reassured his daughters who practically squealed in delight.

“Thank you Papa,” they thanked their father with a kiss to his cheek before you all eagerly went back to your room to change.

“Thank you for saying something to Demsey.” Kiera thanked you as you finished with Callie’s suit and then turned your attention to Amara.

“You’re welcome. Whenever I see injustice and unfairness, if I can equalize it, I like to try.” You answered her.

“Women in English society are restricted enough just in the wearing of our corsets and being “polite” in society, especially on the train to gentlemen who feel entitled to converse with you and invade your space. No need for much more than that is there?” You giggled as you laced up the covers over Amara’s forearms.

“No truer words have ever been spoken. That’s why we never go anywhere without our brothers for that very reason.” Amara confessed.

“So in Dorierra, how young are you when you first learn komoba?” Callie asked.

“Three. As soon as we learn to walk and don’t fall over just trying to walk from one end of the house to the other as young toddlers do.” You answered her.

“Three?! That’s when orcs of old used to learn to fight too!” Callie offered.

“Speaking of, have any of you ever learned any of the old ways?” You asked them as Kiera, Amara and Callie all shook their heads no.

“No, once grandfather got the Duchy, he forbade our father from ever learning any of the old ways. Because the gentry turned their noses up at us and the other orcs, trolls and the like who had gotten into the nobility at the same time were our only society. But at the same time, the common orcs who fought side by side with him in the war, would not socialize with us either, thinking that because we had the duchy, that we were too good for the likes of them. And they wouldn’t even let us go to the clan halls, thinking that we would take them over with just our nobility instead of honoring the old ways of tradition. They would allow father and grandfather into the fencing houses but as soon as they would enter, the other patrons would quickly leave. It wasn’t until Demsey and Sierge were born and were brought to the fencing places that others found that they had no skills whatsoever, and would lose almost every match that they accepted Demsey and Sierge and then Tzane until they got to be proficient. But the moment any of them use their full strength, they get disqualified for “overpowering” their opponents. It pushes them to walk almost impossibly fine lines and it’s only when Demsey championed for the unions that we got welcomed back into the clan halls again, but only for meetings to discuss clan affairs, never for the fighting or anything like that.” Amara explained.

“Oooh, that, that explains it then. I know what that is like. The Morrigans forbade me from even wielding a dinner knife, much less any other kind of weapon. Because they didn’t want any parts of my moura heritage to tarnish their Morrigan name and proper English sensibilities. And I know what it’s like to divorce yoruself from your own heritage to survive. So your family has my sympathy and empathy in this matter.” You offered before you left the room.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I’ll never settle on English soil then.” Benny confessed to you and Calla as you left the room and locked the door behind you.

“Oh poor Sierge, he’ll be so heartbroken to hear that.” You cooed to her sarcastically which got her to snort a laugh.

“When I had said something to Sierge about how it wasn’t fair for him to participate but his sisters were simply watching, he insisted that proper English ladies never should be allowed to participate, and no lady worth her honor in English society would even want to because it should serve as a distinction between the sexes’.” Benny confessed which made you and Calla gasp.

“But yet one word from you and Demsey had the opposite reaction.” Calla realized.

“What I’m curious about is, how you responded to Sierge’s comment.” You put to Benny since the Voyambi sisters had practically jogged down the hallway to get to the courtyard as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t say much around the mouthful of golden yellow paint I put in his mouth with the short dagger stick before I put him into the ground so hard all the air got knocked out of his lungs, I think he’s probably still throwing up from having swallowed so much paint.” Benny proudly beamed which got you and Calla to bust up laughing.

“Put him in his place, I like it.” You offered with a mischievous smile.

“If he thought that way about proper English ladies, what did he think of us then?” Calla asked Benny.

“Oh he thought we were the exception because we were moura and would continue to be the exception because of it.” Benny answered.

“Double standards at it best I suppose.” Calla sighed tiredly.

“Well then let’s not waste this opportunity to show off how truly amazing mouras can be.” You insisted.

Meanwhile Bellfast, the Mage came to the Palace of Windsor to see Gregori personally, as he watched from a safe distance to see you and the other moura’s leave the palace for the gardens.

“Ah, Bellfast, my good fellow, Lady Audravienne has given me the password to the scene catchers.” Gregori happily said as he showed Bellfast the password.

“Yes, I already have divined it and the second and the third.” Bellfast reported with a meaningful look to Gregori before Gregori quickly led the way to a private office.

“And?” Gregori prompted.

“You need to see this.” Bellfast insisted as Gregori had ushered Ballfast into a private office as Bellfast cast the moment of Edward’s death onto a small mirror in the office as Gregori watched on intently. Frowning in disgust at the scene before a loud crash boomed through the room and Gregori gasped as his eyes went wide as he covered his mouth with his own hand and watched as the scene unfolded before Gregori’s own servants knocked on the door to make sure he was alight and safe which Gregori quickly reassured them and ordered them to leave immediately and to not say a word of the sound to anyone or they would be whipped and then dismissed immediately.

“Who else has seen this?” Gregori demanded of Bellfast.

“Only you, myself, Audravienne- because she lived through it, and Miss Jane Morrigan who came up with the third password to help Audravienne destroy it. It was completely struck from all the records so that even the sound of the crash was gone, the Morrigans were out to dinner and little Edward was asleep, but even the other servants heard it down into the basements. But Jane bribed them to keep quiet about it and old Edward’s doctor simply said he died of a heart attack and the bed was quickly set to be burned and was ash by the time the Morrigans got home. I can recreate the bed if need be.” Bellfast offered.

“No need right now. Do not let on that you know of any of this. I have my own uses for this. For now, only use the first password that Lady Audravienne has provided and compile all you can in a case against the Morrigans for time’s sake and make the second and the third passwords appear invisible and all that they contain inaccessable for now and do not use anything that is protected behind those other two. String everything else together in such a way that the poisoning of Edward is hung on the Count and Countess Morrigan so that they could fully inherit the estate sooner but make it so that it looks like they are framing Audra for it, which they clearly feel she did, and obviously their poisoning of Audra and all abuses to her by them and by the old Edward, I want any judge and jury to find Audra as innocent as the white dove she is and will continue to be and appear so, but also, if Lady Audravienne will not cooperate further, do your best to hang the Wolf Eye on her and obviously the murder.” Gregori instructed.

“That won’t be difficult to do. Also I have recreated all of Lady Audravienne’s mail and all four postmen are currently in prison and their confessions are on the record, as are all the servants who were involved in Lady Audravienne’s poisoning. But all the others who were involved with covering up Edward’s true cause of death are still free and Lady Audravienne's servants at Mirador that followed her from Broadcove are most intriguing." Bellfast said as he handed the latest report to Gregori who took it and read it over, almost giggling in his chuckle as he read it over.

"The Morrigans are of course panicked but claim they have the proof of the Wolf Eye coming from Audra, which other than coercing their own remaining servants to say so, the scene catchers clearly contradict which means we can pin insanity onto them and Dr. Rickets is simply awaiting instruction and of course is eager to say either way in order to keep his liscence to continue to practice his medicine, he claims he did something to the mourkatili to make it less lethal and less damaging to Lady Audravienne's person, claiming to the Morrigans that such measures were to "intensify" it's effect but in all actuallity it was only to protect your interests and claims that he can cure Lady Audravienne so that she can bear heirs without any ill effects and reverse the mourkatili, even at such a dose as was given to her.” Bellfast offered.

“Excellent.” Gregori beamed proudly. “How much is owed to you for such services?” Gregori asked as he went into his own box of funds in the room.

“Oh, for now my bill is with the Morrigans, but I will still happily take my agreed payment from you, however when Lady Audravienne wins her case, I’ll ask for a tip from her in her preference.” Bellfast began to chuckle darkly which Gregori soon mirrored as Gregori handed over a thousand pounds in a stack of bills.

“Yes, she will. I can’t wait to see what she is truly capable of. For now though she is hesitant and weary, let us win her trust and confidence first and only if she becomes uncooperative, then we can use this as leverage, but otherwise she has been a dream to work with and responds best with a gentle guiding hand and kindness, which considering the abuse- is no wonder to anyone. Yes, tender loving care will be all that is needed to pacify her and keep her happy and content. After the komoba battle, every moura instinct in her will be truly awakened and she will come to all of her senses that the Morrigans tried to dull. Oh and if I may request one more favor, just incase Dr. Rickets can not provide what he has offered, find the best mourkatili antidote you can with the added benefit that Lady Audravienne’s womb will be restored to her and her full health that she enjoyed when she left from Dorierra, just in case Dr. Rickets is not to be trusted.” Gregori requested before Bellfast simply took a very fancy glass bottle, wrapped in silk cloth to keep it safe, out of his coat pocket and unwrapped it before he put it on the desk in front of Gregori with a smug grin before handing over the silk itself.

“Only have her drink it after the court case, for now the mourkatili will still show up in her hair under blacklight, since it will purple, if it is still strong within her, it will also show up in her eyes under black light as well.” Bellfast instructed.

“Excellent.” Gregori beamed before he took it and rewrapped it and put it into his own pocket.

“Good work Bellfast, as always, you are the best Mage in all of Europa and I’m so happy that you answered my invitation.” Gregori praised him.

“Thank you for the invitation in the first place. I will happily use these funds to further my own research.” Bellfast grinned as he took his payment and tucked it away into the pocket the antidote had previously been put into before Gregori saw his guest out before he called his servants over.

"Do not let the Dauphine or anyone else know that the Mage Bellfast was here today, this report was sent by a messenger and there was no sound of a crash in the study, was there?" Gregori practically snarled at his servants who nodded yes as their knees had to be locked to keep from knocking together in fear.

"Yes your Grace." They answered obediantly before Gregori smiled victoriously and straightened up and returned to the gardens where your grandmother was now teaching all the Voyambi's, the Duke and Duchess included the basics of Komoba along with Yalin who he took aside and slipped the report into her hands.

"Just delivered just now from the Mage from a messenger." Gregori told his wife as she read it as her eyes got as large as saucers.

"Oh my, this is the scandal of the century." Yalin had to admit.

"And I can't wait to read all about it in the gossip collumns when the matter is brought up in court." Gregori incited with a scheming smile to his wife that she was powerless to resist from mirroring.

"Yes it will." She agreed before she got back into the grid to finish her own refresher course in kamoba.

[monster-bait]

Soooo 👀 you got anymore HCs up your sleeve on Rukh? He has been living rent free in my brain for a while now (like a lot of your OCs!)😅🤩😍

Here are some HCs for Rukh, our favorite gruff bartender in the GW universe. (I've already started writing a small one-shot of Rukh's job interview with Tate, because once I started writing these, I couldn't get the idea out of my head! That will be posting to Patreon shortly!)

If you're interested in learning more about any of my existing characters, all ko-fi contributions earn a headcanon! (Higher amounts will be more detailed!)

Previous Rukh headcanons, including the extremely memorable moment of IvyMemnoch finding a Celtic flute version of Despacito (my fav Tumblr moment of the year, by far! 😂) can be found here

RUKH

Had never heard of the tiny resort town where the Pixie is located before responding to the job listing, despite the fact that he lives in neighboring Starling Heights. He’d been working in one of those quick-service garages before then—an embarrassing waste of his skills, but he figured with his prison record, he was lucky to find a job at all. He’d not been planning on leaving his position, was only looking for a part-time gig, but the job post for the Pixie was too intriguing to scroll past—it was written in Orcish, practically unheard in a mixed-species society, catching his eye immediately. Unlike the other half-a-dozen bartender help wanted ads he’d looked at, the Pixie’s post said nothing about requiring an “upbeat personality” or his “smile being part of the dress code,” all descriptors that made him cringe. Punctuality, accountability, and an authoritative presence were the expectations, experience a plus but not required...it was straightforward and direct., it was clearly directed at orcs...he fit the bill, he thought. He considered himself to have a finely-tuned bullshit meter, and the Pixie’s ad didn’t set it off at all

He has since admitted to himself that he has fallen for Tate’s particular brand of bullshit repeatedly over the years

Rukh is a very tightly closed book. He’s definitely the strong silent type and is not at all comfortable talking about himself. (Despite that, he spilled his guts and told Tate his whole life story during his job interview—falling for the bullshit instance #1)

He discovered a love of reading during his incarceration, one he didn’t possess in his younger days. When he moved to Starling Heights, he was low-key delighted to find his apartment was on the same block as the library. He prefers mysteries and crime novels to anything overly literary, doesn’t have the patience for the endless world-building of high fantasy, and enjoys a wide spectrum of non-fiction. It’s become a game of sorts, engaging Ainsley in conversation and being able to not only keep up, but add his own insights and facts.

Another mental game he likes to play is trying to pinpoint Tate’s actual age. He’d never come right out and ask but sometimes Tate will chime into conversations knowing things he just...shouldn’t, or else will make references to things that Rukh can barely remember from his *own* childhood, things he remembers his parents reminiscing over. He’s added some Celtic history books to his rotation and surreptitiously jots down notes on the random head-scratchers Tate will casually drop and follows rabbit holes looking into said notes...as a result, he’s even more spooked by Tate than he was before he started snooping 😂

When Rukh first started at the Pixie, he thought they would fail. He was positive about it. Too small, in the middle of nowhere, an owner who very quickly made enemies with most of the people in town...he was shocked when the old girl's business plan actually fell into place. Shocked and thrilled, of course. He loves having a routine, loves having a reason to get up and feel energized every day, likes the clientele and takes his job of overseeing the “sightseers” during tourist season seriously. Since the bar turns a respectable profit, they're constantly receiving promotional odds and ends, which is how Rukh wound up with a Bourbon of the Month club subscription for a free year. (Tate hissed like a cat and shooed the offending pamphlet away as though it might bite.) He continued the subscription once the free year ended, and looks forward to his monthly ritual—he waits until his night off, puts on some moody jazz, cracks open the month’s bottle, and enjoys it with a cigar. Thessa referred to it as a self-care routine once, after asking him about his plans for the night, and he nearly turned inside out in mortification.

He doesn’t talk about his time in prison, nor the crime he committed to wind up there. Tate is the only one who knows, and Rukh is happy to keep it that way. It’s not that he regrets the act itself all that much—he has no remorse for his brother, but rather the way it fractured their family, upended his life, and had branded him as someone to be wary of since his release.

That being said...things he did pick up during his incarceration—the ability to keep his head down and just get by, the knowledge that sometimes you simply need to kick someone’s ass, and the value of tidiness—are assets at the Pixie.

Loves nothing more than his solitary days at the Pixie during the off-season. The night-time regulars, while they consistently fill the cash till, are still a handful. He loves the quiet of the daytime, the handful of day drinkers, the time to hear himself think without needing to watch over every aspect of the business. Speaking of which—he knows how to do everything in the Pixie. The ordering, the inventory, the budgets, the schedules, the upkeep...he's not entirely sure why, as Tate very much micro-manages every bit of the day-to-day management, but it was something the boy insisted on and Rukh wasn't about to argue. "Someone needs to be able to take care of her if I'm not here anymore," was the only answer he got, and he decided it was easier not to ask questions. Since Silva has been on the scene, Rukh has been left to his own devices more often and it is *bliss.*

He thought he'd left his days of vice behind him. He drank, he smoked, he dabbled in recreational drugs, he worked on souped-up hot rods and bet on drag racing...prison changed all that and his life afterward left little room for any of it...but Tate and Ainsley are terrible terrible influences. Gamblers and hustlers, he has someone to talk cars with again, to trade intel on illegal street racing with, the chance to get his hands just a littttle bit dirty again, and he loves it

Smokey blues, soulful R&B, moody rock

Sloooow dancing

He is *incredibly* protective of Elshona. He’s the first person who meets her once she arrives in her new home, and he recognizes the fear in her eyes. He’s the only one who understands what it means to be cast out of one’s community, he knows what it means to have to start over again. He doesn’t understand the relationship she has with Tate, doesn’t know all of the details of her expulsion and shunning from her clan, but he’s made a quiet promise to himself that she’ll never be left to flounder completely alone again.

Has a FWB relationship with a half-troll woman in his building. Single mom, splits custody with her ex, so has several nights a week free, and she’ll spend one of them in his bed. It’s casual and neither of them is interested in pursuing more, but it’s occasional companionship and scratches an itch.

He's not immune to the plethora of easy sex the commune attracts. There would be hell to pay if the staff acted on anything beyond mild flirtation at the Pixie, but he'd be a liar if he said he hadn't drifted down to the parties and pool-side bar before to check things out. He's been on the receiving end of more than one edge of the party blowjob to know how addictive that sort of access to easy sex could be; he sees the commune residents and the reckless way they behave and knows how easy it would be to slip into that lust-crazed mindset, and makes a point of only indulging in visiting that side of the resort occasionally

He much prefers to find his partners the old fashioned way: closer to home, in one of the dimly lit little pubs around his neighborhood. He loves the adrenaline rush of a flirtation turning into close talking and lingering hands, that first heat-filled kiss. He doesn't mind the evening ending back at his or her place, he's not picky, and prefers to savor the night (as opposed to the fast, anonymous sex at the commune parties.) Ladies on top or old-fashioned missionary, any position that lets him see their faces: heads dropped back, faces screwed up in ecstasy, that moment when they come...he'll take that over a blow job in the dark any day of the week

A skill that Tate possesses that Rukh greatly admires and strives to emulate: easy banter which leads to confidences shared. They were talking about cars one minute, and in the next Rukh was revealing the details of the day he killed his brother, the shunning of his clan which followed, and his incarceration. He left that initial interview feeling shaken, positive that he'd been the victim of fae magic...but he's come to realize that there is truth in the old adage of hairstylists and barkeeps being the keepers of the whole town's secrets. Tate knows everything about everyone, is able to tease out information as casually as pouring the next drink, and Rukh has begun to employ the same tactics. He was shocked to find that it actually works. As the years have gone on, he's improved his game and knows much about all of the Pixie's regulars, hears the commune gossip and news from town, and is gleeful with the power of being able to pass on information that the Pixie can use to leverage her business.

There is very little that scares him in this world. Possessions are just things and things can be replaced, he's been in fights with bigger, meaner dudes than the Pixie's roughest patrons, and he's not afraid to meet his maker. He's let go of the past and the people in it and tries to live life one day at a time, and that's not a mindset that lends itself to fear much. Tate is a wholly different story. Rukh knew his type in prison: those who viewed other people as pawns, who traded and secrets gossip to advance their own positions; had a minotaur cellmate who was that sort and he got his ass kicked on the regular for it. He knew a lizardman who was as slippery, who contorted himself in and out of trouble, ingratiating himself with the guards and the inmates of the upper echelons to hold himself out of real hot water...but he's never met anyone with the same capacity for mischief and spite as his current employer, has never met anyone so terrifyingly adept at causing trouble while staying out of it. The boy isn't overly concerned about making enemies or worrying about his own hide and wreaks havoc for havoc's sake, and Rukh might be impressed if he didn't actually care about him. Silva is, in Rukh's opinion, Tate's perfect match. A sweet little angel, an absolute beauty, wide-eyed and innocent looking and, Rukh (rightly) suspects, just as shrewd and self-preserving as Tate. He has a feeling the entire town will be set ablaze if/when their relationship consumes itself, and only hopes it happens on his day off.

I hope you enjoyed this little peek into a character who doesn't get as much page time as some of his peers! If you'd like a headcanon of your own, visit my ko-fi! Thanks so much, IvyMemnoch!

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Tangled (In Complexity)

So I've been very interested in a lot of the psychological features of Essek's character, and one of them is his canonical low-empathy. Essek seems to have a really hard time with empathy as a rule, which makes social interactions extremely fraught for him. I am also a Verin Theylss stan, so of course, I had to write a whole fic exploring these issues. No, I do not believe having low-empathy makes a person evil by any means, but as this story is from Verin's flawed perspective we only get his insights into Essek's behaviors so just keep that in mind when reading.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Triggers: emotionally abusive/distant parenting, estrangement, grief, and mentions of canonical minor character death (Essek and Verin’s father)

Preview:

"Don't leave me," Verin begged, fingers pressed to the wood of the door, and yanking the knob to no avail. "Please, it'll get me, Mama!"

"Verin, you will stay in your room until you overcome this idiotic fear," his mother shouted, and Verin flinched back from the door. "We are drow , what kind of drow is afraid of the dark?"

"Mama, Mama no!" Verin sobbed curling tight into himself. He could hear her footsteps as they echoes down the hallway and disappeared. He screwed his eyes shut. The room seemed to shrink in his panic. The shadows at his closet seemed to grow. The panic that had been gnawing at Verin's gut since his history lesson that day seemed to grow stronger. There was only his desperate heartbeat in his ears, the scent of snuffed candles, and thick shadows. In the dark there were the monsters that he had been told about. He didn't understand why his mother couldn't understand. If he was alone in the dark, then the driders and beholders and the other creeping crawling monster would be able to find him and hurt him!

There was no choice then. If his mother wouldn't help him than Verin knew that he would have to save himself.

Verin looked about, seeing his window and realizing it was his golden opportunity. He jumped up on his chair, onto his desk, and then attempted to open the window. It didn't budge. Seeing the lock at the top, Verin climbed down to his bookshelf and began bringing books over to his desk. Using them to boost himself up and using all his strength, he heard the lock creak and pop, the window opening out to the courtyard. He nearly fell out right there but managed to catch his balance with a startled yelp.

Verin ducked, his heart in his throat. He had been so desperate to escape that he hadn’t thought of any of the consequences. Mother would come, she would know and the punishment would be worse. But would that punishment be worse than the creatures that were surely waiting for him to trance? It was a risk he was willing to take. A minute passed, and then two. No one crossed the courtyard. In fact, no one appeared at all. However, from one of the rooms he saw the light of a candle. Verin, gathering all of his courage, lowered himself out of the window and then sprinted across the yard as quickly as his legs would take him. He grabbed a stick, and began to rap at the window. Mid-hit, the window opened and Verin heard Essek swear as he swatted the branch away.

"Stop!" Essek snapped and Verin dropped the stick. Essek was sticking his head out of the window now, glaring down at Verin with a heat that made Verin shrink with a leaf now stuck in his hair. "What are you doing ?"

"Mother locked me in my room," Verin said, gripping the edge of the window and desperately scrabbling for a foothold so he could boost himself up. "And she took all the lights away! Essek, please, the driders are going to get me!"

"You are being ridiculous! Hey! Stop, you are going to hurt yourself!" Essek said, and to Verin's relief Essek grabbed his shirt and pulled him up through the window. Verin was sprawled on Essek's desk, looking at Essek's glower from an interesting angle. A book had fallen, and he had scattered papers all over the place. Despair came thick and shameful. Now Essek definitely wouldn’t help him, he would carve him up and serve him to their mama on a golden platter.

"Don't make me go back, Essek, she'll lock me away again," Verin sniffed, eyes burning. Essek's face twisted for a moment, he looked out the window and closed it, moved to the door and stuck his head out and closed it in turn. He planted his hands on his hips, and then groaned after finding whatever answer he was looking for on the ceiling.

"Oh fine, very well," Essek sighed, helping Verin off the desk and straightening out his things. "I'll put you to work then."

Verin nodded eagerly, his heart full of a crippling relief. Being put to work was far better than dealing with the dark, cold, lonely bedroom before. Essek had never assigned Verin chores or punishment before, but whatever he wanted couldn't have been as bad as the quiet room. Essek was distant and quiet and mean on occasions that suited him, but at least he always kept his promises.

"Hold this for me," Essek said, taking the blanket spread out over his legs and draping it over Verin's shoulders. "I'm getting too hot."

Verin nodded and curled it around his shoulders.

"Now I'm going to read, you stay quiet," Essek told him, standing up and pulling a book from the shelf. It was cracked along the backbone, well-used and annotated with his brother's scrawl. He settled it at the center of the desk, pushing away the massive tome he had been using after marking the page he had been on.

"I will!"

" Quiet , Verin."

"Oh! Right, sorry!" Verin whispered, curling the blanket more firmly around himself. He felt tiny in the huge chair, and didn't quite know what to do with his legs and arms. He settled for tucking them underneath himself and leaning against the arm. Essek began reading aloud.

"Dunamists have long held that gravity is the force by which a planet or other celestial body draws objects towards their center. The force of gravity keeps the celestial bodies in orbit around the sun," Essek read, voice quietly. "The manipulation of this force is called Dunamancy, and this concept of drawing towards the center is the most basic principle of the practice."

"Mm," Verin sighed, head heavy.

"The existence of gravity was first proven by which scholar, Verin?"

"Narcelia of Den Gallaer," Verin grumbled, remembering the list and his tutor who smelled like old parchment and smoke. He remembered because he had gotten his knuckles hit for doodling during that lesson, and his mother hadn’t been pleased.

"Correct, and she discovered gravity by completing a sequence of tests that started…"

Essek read, and occasionally asked Verin questions. He never once looked at Verin, and yet Verin could sense he had Essek's attention. And that was enough. After all, a drider couldn't get the jump on him if someone was paying attention. He tried to stay awake, to listen so that he could help Essek. He wasn't sure exactly what he had wanted help with, but he knew he could. He could be of use somehow. Essek would see that, and then Essek would see him . He couldn’t imagine something better than that, after all, everyone knew that Essek was a genius. If Essek saw him, maybe Verin could be special one day and not just a bother.

Just one moment, Verin thought to himself as his heavy eyes closed. I'll just rest for a moment. Essek won't be mad if it's just for a moment and it was so difficult to keep his eyes open and…

Verin drifted into a trance, and even deeper into sleep . When he awoke he was in his own bed, and the only proof it hadn't been a dream was the unlocked door and the closed window.

_____________________________

Verin was in the midst of a well needed rest when he was startled out of his trance by a Message. This was his least favorite way to wake up for multiple reasons, but it was especially unwelcome as his foggy brain began to put together the pieces of the words as they filtered in.

“Taskhand, your presence is being requested by your Denmother and the Shadowhand. You will be expected at the residence tomorrow evening.”

“Very well, I’ll leave Bazzoxan tomorrow,” Verin said, before waiting for the spell to fizzle out. He sighed and collapsed back down in his bed, once he was safe.

“ What ?” Samezi groaned from where she was laying on the bed next to him. Her head popped out from under the covers, and she blinked at him slowly.

“My presence has been requested at the Theylss Residence tomorrow evening,” Verin said, adopting an exaggerated Rosohna accent.

“You aren’t going are you?” Samezi asked, concerned, sitting up straight. Verin wished they could just go back to sleeping, with his arms around her and soaking in her warmth and her scent and burying his face in her braids. When Verin didn’t answer she swore under her breath in orcish. “You can’t be serious Verin.”

“I can’t refuse a summons from my Denmother,” Verin explained, pulling himself up and resting against the rickety backboard of his bed. He had gutted most of the belongings of the previous Taskhand, the velvet curtains and the feather down, when he got there and salvaged them for extra coin. One of his first orders of business was putting every spare coin back into the barracks where it belonged. He had no access to the vast fortune his family commanded, after all, he was the youngest son.

“You mean your mother,” Samezi said, not sounding impressed. “That woman .”

“Yes, my mother, the Denmother, Deirta there is no difference,” Verin said noncommittal though just mentioning her made something curdle in his gut. “I have to go, no matter how much I wish not to. The Shadowhand will be there, which means it’s something important.”

“Please, consider just...just refusing,” Samezi said, the worry settling like a weight between her brows. “You know how you get after seeing them.”

“You mean, feeling like I’m making nothing of my life? Please, elaborate.”

“Really Verin,” Samezi said quietly, touching his arm with a softness that gentled the sharp edges of his heart. “They are incapable of seeing what we all see. You are the only Taskhand we’ve liked probably in the history of the outpost. There’ll be chaos if that woman skins you and eats your organs or whatever she’s planning.”

“You don’t think she just wants to see me perhaps? I’ve heard I’m decent company,” Verin said, fluttering his eyelashes. He leaned to give Samezi a kiss and she batted him away half-heartedly.

“I’m being serious,” Samezi warned him, her fingers combing through Verin’s hair.

“At ease, sergeant,” Verin said with a salute before sighing and leaning back against the pillows. “I know, you’re right. But I’m sure it’s just something about politics now that the war is over. I’ll go there, have dinner, and come back. If something else happens, I give you permission to send a search party. Make to avenge me, also, burn all those letters I sent you. They are in a lockbox in my desk.”

“You are horrible ,” Samezi said. “But fine, but only if they kill you before I do.”

“Good, give me something to look forward to when I get home,” Verin said with a smile of his own.

He arrived the next evening back to his hometown through the use of their teleportation circle. Rosohna was dark and beautiful as always, after arriving he spent a little bit of time stretching his legs and getting a feel for the city that he had grown up in once more. The mood was much improved since his last visit, owed in part to the return of the beacons and to the end of the war. In general though, it felt like the city was teetering on another edge. Though it had little to do with him, he was sure that the direction Rosohna would blow would be decided soon enough.

Verin arrived in the Lucid Bastion on time, moving to the Den Theylss ancestral home. Servants acknowledged his presence and he was directed to one of the sitting rooms to await the presence of the Umavi. Verin was let in, and as he crossed the threshold he was immediately aware of another presence. Turning around, he saw Essek perched in a seat with a tome across his lap. He finished his page, not looking up, and once he did he put in a bookmark. Essek curled his fingers in the air and then slipped his book into a pocket dimension, before meeting his gaze. As always, his elder brother was dressed in a mantle and long robes that obscured his figure and he floated off the ground as he was buoyed in his own gravitational field.

"Hello Verin," Essek said pleasantly, head nodding towards him in acknowledgement.

"Essek," Verin said cordially in return, echoing his nod. "How have you been?"

"Busy," Essek answered, his tone non-committal. His attention slid to Verin now for the first time, though Verin wasn't looking at his brother but was instead looking ahead. The weight of his gaze skittered up Verin's neck like a spider and made him want to swat at his own skin. Essek had always had such an effect on everyone they knew. Unnerving , would be the term though it has its limits. Verin had known Essek all of his life...until recently there had been no life without Essek being factored in like some kind of twisted arithmetic, but Verin had no clue what was simmering under the surface of Essek's facade.

"The Denmother's last appointment is running late, it will be a few moments longer," a servant said, bowing deep in apology. Essek waved off the servant who scurried away. Verin sighed through his nose. Of course, his mother would summon him all the way from Bazzoxan and then still find a reason to not speak with him. Typical .

"I hear you have been busy as well," Essek said, and Verin startled at his voice. He had assumed their non-conversation was over and that they would start pretending the other didn't exist again. Apparently Essek wanted something.

"Bazzoxan keeps me on my toes," Verin said suspiciously, feeling his own eyes narrow. "Why?"

"It hasn't escaped my attention that you are doing well there," Essek said, and Verin met his silver gaze. He couldn't say that Essek looked proud, or warm. But instead, the placid mask of his brother was gone and his expression was neutral. "I will admit that the assignment concerned me, but I was glad to be proven wrong."

"You thought I couldn't handle it?" Verin asked, a twinge of indignation pricking him.

"In over your head," Essek clarified, arms shifting beneath the mantle. "But I have heard nothing but good things about your leadership. I'm sure the Umavi is pleased."

"And what do you think?" Verin asked him.

"A Theylss, executing their job proficiently in high places is to be expected," Essek said, looking forward. "You are a Theylss, after all."

"Until you can actually speak about that like I am a Theylss and don't just have to prove myself one, it doesn't feel like you actually think of me as your brother," Verin pointed out.

"You are the only one of our siblings I view as a sibling," Essek said with a blink, looking at Verin more critically. "I thought you knew that."

"I'm pretty sure what you think constitutes loving sibling behavior and what I think constitutes loving sibling behavior are two very different things," Verin said, illustrating the point by holding up two fingers and pulling them apart.

"I don't deny that," Essek said with a shrug. “I am sorry if I made you feel otherwise though.”

Verin was now staring at Essek unabashedly. He wasn’t even sure that he had known that apologies were even part of Essek’s vocabulary (outside of the political niceties that Essek had always been well versed in). Their childhood was scattered with examples Verin could point too-bothered Essek, annoyed Essek, cold Essek. Cold Essek had always been Verin’s least favorite, the one that treated Verin like his existence was a chore he just had to get through. During their sibling arguments, Essek would just simply pretend Verin didn’t exist...the record being for a week straight. Never once had Essek ever apologized for instigating or his part in their disagreements. On occasion, Essek could be considerate, but never kind. There was always a point . Whether it was to curry his favor or to repay a favor, it could be assumed that Essek wanted something. Essek was never apologetic . Verin had half a mind to slap himself, just to make sure he was well.

“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a spider,” Essek said with a roll of his eyes, and Verin’s mouth closed with a click of his teeth.

“Who are you and what have you done with Essek?” Verin asked suspiciously.

“Stop acting like a child,” Essek told him with a very distinctly Essek huff that relieved Verin slightly. At least he knew that this was indeed his brother and not just a person masquerading around in his flesh suit. Verin was about to say something in that spirit when the servant walked back into the sitting room.

“The Denmother is requesting your presence now,” the servant said with a bow of his head. Essek ghosted in behind him, and Verin followed close behind.

Their mother was sitting at the table, flipping through some papers as she took sips from a glass of wine. As they walked in their mother’s eyes didn’t even flit up from the papers for a moment, she simply waved them in like she was summoning them forward. Verin felt like a child being called in for a scolding again as he moved forward. Essek’s face was a picture of cool indifference. Finally she stopped, clearly having decided that she had made them wait long enough. She set down the papers, and another servant scrambled to take them away.

“Denmother,” Essek greeted, bowing his head in respect, and Verin echoed the movement immediately.

“Essek,” Deirta said, standing up. She seemingly inspected Essek thoroughly. Though they were the same height, Essek was currently floating about an inch or two higher. It was at such moments that Verin was always surprised about how much Essek took after their mother. From the shape of their eyes, to the bridge of their noses, to the sharp lines of their delicate faces. Verin had always been closer in face and continence to their father. He wondered, often, what their mother thought of that. She seemed pleased with whatever she saw there and turned her attention to him. “Verin.”

“Denmother,” Verin said as his mother curled her cold fingers under his chin, and turned his head this way and that. Verin let her manipulate his movements, and was relieved when she let go.

“Would it kill you to keep your hair in order?” Deirta sighed, the breath coming exasperated. “It looks like you took a knife to the edges.”

“I did,” Verin said flatly. Essek made a noise like he was stifling a chuckle, casting a glance towards him Verin could see there was a muscle twitching in his jaw...like he was fighting a grin.

“ Scissors , Verin, are there no scissors in Bazzoxan?” Deirta chastised before casting a scolding glance at Essek. “You don’t have a leg to stand on, considering your ridiculous haircut.”  

“Forgive me, mother,” Essek said with a sweet, almost indulgent smile. “But the teachings of the Luxon do say that our bodies are merely transient vessels. Hair is of middling importance in the grand scheme of enlightenment.”

“Oh Luxon’s light protect me,” Deirta said, throwing up her hands. “Verin, promise me you’ll schedule an appointment to get the ends of your hair sorted out before you leave Rosohna.”  

“Of course,” Verin said, hoping this would be enough to placate her.

“And don’t you give me attitude, young man,” Deirta said, focusing her energy now on Essek with narrowed eyes. “Out of everyone in this household, I am not the one who needs a lecture on the Luxon’s philosophy.”

Verin felt himself tense up, as a pit opened large and wide in his stomach. Oh dear Light, he had thought this argument was over . Was Essek still pursuing his ridiculously dangerous ideas? It was a poorly kept secret that Essek had funny ideas when it came to the Luxon. Treasonous ideas, if Verin was being honest. Essek could never leave well enough alone, and had historically never sucked up his pride enough to let things lay where they were. There had been plenty of nights where Verin had hidden in his room with his head under a pillow and trying not to listen to their parents argue with Essek for hours, going around and around like they were lost in a maze. How many times had Verin prayed for Essek just to drop it? He couldn’t even count.

“Yes, mother,” Essek said simply. Verin stared at him. He didn’t look particularly bothered by their mother’s annoyance. Essek had always had nerves of steel...or maybe deadened nerves would be more accurate. Verin wasn’t quite sure his brother was capable of the emotions that would be expected from a person.  

“Umavi,” a servant said quietly. “The cook would like you to know that dinner is ready whenever you would like it.”

“Very well,” Deirta said, taking her seat back at the head of the table. Essek and Verin both sat at the table, Essek on the left side and Verin on the right. Verin focused solely on keeping his head down and shoveling food into his mouth. He knew rationally that this was all better than anything he would get from the barrack kitchens, but eating dinner late at night with the head cook Old Man Vuto as company was a far superior experience. He hadn’t realized how much so until just that moment. Essek and his mother spoke about the comings and goings of Rosohna, about people that Verin knew tangentially, and business that didn’t interest Verin at all. Essek grazed, picking at his plate but mostly just moving things around.

“-now that the war is over, I am hoping that perhaps Den Wenirila will realize that their insistence on the Northern Assault strategy has done them no favors in court and the Denmother will stop shouting every time she comes into the war room,” Essek sighed.

“Yes...now that the war is over in name, there are plenty of things that need to change,” Deirta said with a sip of her glass. “Now, we must think of the future.”

“Indeed,” Essek said, and Verin placed down his chopsticks. “Is this why you have called us?”

“Yes, to think of the future for Den Theylss and for the Kryn Dynasty as a whole,” Deirta said as she settled down her glass. She waved for the servants who took the plates away and then left them alone. “The Empire has returned the beacon they stole from us, and the lines of our territory remain the same. But if anything this conflict has raised our stature in the world. The Dwendalian Empire cannot pretend that the Dynasty are savage drow and monsters who live in some cursed hovel. They were forced to recognize us. This will send a message to those countries outside of the borders of Wildemount that we are a sovereign state with military power that cannot be discounted when it comes to global politics. According to some we have lost the battle, but I believe that we have won the war. You two are not the first I have called here to discuss this with me, but as Denmother I believe it is my duty to share with all of the den my vision.”

“ Global politics?” Verin asked.

“Who did the Tal’doreians beg for aid when the dragons nearly roasted their civilization into a well-done husk? It certainly wasn’t us. They begged the Dwendalians. And do you know why?” Deirta asked Verin. “Pretend that you paid attention during your history lessons, Verin. I paid good money for them.”  

“Ever since the drow left the Underdark there has been limited contact between the drow and the denizens of Tal’dorei,” Verin said quietly, repeating a lesson he had been taught long ago, trying not to feel as scolded as he did. “The only drow who remain have long since been twisted by Lolth and the dark entities who whisper in their hearts. Neighbors slaughter neighbors in the streets of their subterranean cities and the Denmothers and Denfathers rule with an authoritarian grip. Those who attempt to escape are often killed by once they reach the surface or are forced to live in secret enclaves as refuges without homes."

“That’s right. We used to not exist in their world outside of the horror stories they told their children to keep them from the dark at night, now we do,” Deirta told him, chin raised. “We have a golden opportunity to influence the world in a way we haven’t before.”

“And what would Den Theylss’ role in that influence be?” Essek asked as he threaded his fingers together.

“The Kryn are the rulers, the Mirimm are the enforcers. Theylss has always been the diplomats . You both know as well as I do that Den Theylss has always filled in the gap with everything the Empress needs. We will even do what the Empress doesn’t know she needs, for her own good of course,” Deirta said. “Den Theylss can be that for many others as well, beyond the Ashkeeper Peaks. Perhaps in an official capacity.”

“How?” Verin asked, frowning. “What does the Dynasty have that would make it worthwhile for any other country to risk the ire of the Empire?”

“We have the greatest resource. Time itself,” Deirta said. “I see no reason why our magics cannot benefit the world. Our cousins live in squalor and terror, it is our duty to return to liberate those remaining and make the peoples of Tal'dorei see drow in a new light."  

“You want to convert the other nations,” Essek said, his voice flat. Verin was staring at Deirta unabashedly.

“Of course they should all see the light of the Luxon,” Deirta explained. “It is doubtful they will reach true enlightenment, but why shouldn’t we aim to bring more souls under the protection of our lord? But just the promise of immortality is the most powerful promise there is, and Den Theylss can be the ambassadors for such a promise. Diplomacy is what we need in a post-war world in order to become a world power, not warmongering. If the Empress cannot see that, then we can make Quana see it. She has been the more reasonable one as of late.”

“What are you implying?” Essek asked, for the first time there was an edge in his voice, an eyebrow raised.

“You have only ever been in the war room, Essek. Not in war. Verin has more experience than you in that regard, but still you are both young and inexperienced and still haven’t died a death for your country,” Deirta sighed. “War is a horrible thing. Bloodshed is a horrible thing, and it tends to be unnecessary and gruesome. It tends to bring up all sorts of feelings and instincts.”

“Are you implying that the Empress isn’t well?” Essek pressed.

“If Leylas Kryn doesn’t see things our way, it is our duty to persuade her of the correct course of action no matter the cost,” Deirta said with a smile. “Our country’s motto is for our den, our country, our Empress, and our Light. There is a reason that den is first.”

What does the Luxon see in you? Verin wanted to demand. Deirta wasn’t righteous, she wasn’t good, she was a monster trying to use the Luxon’s light for her own gain. Of course it should be a good thing for the den to work for peace and prosperity for all drow, but somehow she had even managed to taint that goal with her poison. He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand it. No matter what he did, how good he could be, somehow they were all just cogs in the machinations of her mind. She just had to have some kind of wisdom that Verin didn’t, some way of understanding that made it all make sense. And yet, Verin still felt sick to his stomach. What they were speaking on was nearly treason.

“I will do my duty to my countrymen,” Verin said as he stood up, gathering all of his courage in his spine. “I am the Taskhand of Bazzoxan. I am a son of Theylss and of you but I consider my obligation to the residents of that city to be my concern first and foremost. Denmother, I will respect your decisions, but I ask that you allow me to continue to prove myself in my own way by following my own path.”

“I see,” Deirta said with a disappointed sigh. “I’m sure I could work out a more profitable assignment here in Rosohna or even in Tal’dorei if the opportunity presents itself.”

“I shall endeavor to work to prove myself by my own merit, though the offer humbles me,” Verin said, bowing deeply.  

“And you, Essek, what do you think?” Deirta asked, her gaze sliding over to Essek.

“Frankly, I don’t particularly care about politics,” Essek said bluntly. “Nor do I care about the conditions of the drow of Tal’dorei. Generations ago they made their bed, and should choose to lie in it. Of course you are right that honor to our den is first and foremost our concern, and should you choose to make moves towards Tal’dorei and beyond I will support you. But I also will advise that this gamble is high risk.”  

“And should it fail, you will abandon the den to it’s fate?” Deirta asked.

“I am the Shadowhand, if it looks like your gamble shall fail I will stop it before it gets to that point,” Essek said.

“Is that a threat, Essek?” Deirta asked him, eyes cold.

“Yes,” Essek said with a smile. “The den is first, as you said. I would think you expect nothing less of me.”

“Essek!” Verin hissed, utterly horrified.

“There aren’t many who would have the audacity to scheme their way into being Denfather upon their first life, especially in a house of an Umavi,” Deirta scoffed.

“I have no interest in being Denfather,” Essek said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But should the occasion arise I will find a suitable candidate to replace you.”

“Only one of us here is truly replaceable, think long and hard about your recent decisions before you come to the conclusion about who that is,” Deirta warned him, eyes flashing dangerously. Essek’s shoulders squared and his jaw tensed. “Especially considering the company you have been keeping nowadays.”

Verin wanted to laugh at that idea. Essek? Keeping company? It was ridiculous. But based off of Essek’s frigid demeanor it apparently wasn’t a joke considering that if he had looked frigid before he was now clocking in at below freezing.

“I think this conversation is over,” Essek said as he stood up abruptly, there was something dangerous in his gaze. It was something sharp enough that it could make a person bleed.

“Clearly,” Deirta said shortly.

“Verin,” Essek addressed him clearly for the second time that night. “Would you like to stay here, or would you rather stay in my home? I have a guest room prepared.”

Who are you? Verin wanted to ask.

“I’ll take you up on that then,” was what Verin said instead.

________________________________

Verin had never been to Essek’s home. He had received it after Verin’s assignment in Bazzoxan, and there was certainly no reason to come visit his brother. But Essek’s tower reminded Verin much of a graveyard, cold and impersonal. He could imagine clearly his brother haunting the hallways in the middle of the night, a phantom to his own dreams, walking about in patterns as he tried to work through some esoteric problem that didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. There were strange things though; there were books slightly out of place, extra papers, knickknacks, and things that told a story that Verin couldn’t quite piece together. The company Essek had been keeping? Their mother’s jab still echoed freshly in his ears. Had Essek been seeing someone their mother hadn’t approved of? Verin just couldn’t see that being the case. As far as Verin knew, Essek had never had any romantic entanglements nor shown an interest in such things.

“You look like you’ve been stewing on something for a while now,” Essek said as he sat down, discarding his mantle thoughtlessly. He was smaller than Verin remembered, thinner too. He looked worn down by whatever was eating at him, until he was nothing but edges and spite. “Go ahead, before your brain explodes.”

“What was mother talking about?” Verin asked directly, seeing no purpose in dancing around the point. “What company?”

“It won’t come as a shock to you,” Essek said with a sigh as he put out glasses and set out the wine. “But I lost the friends I made.”

“Friends?” Verin asked, seizing on that impossible fact.

“I should be insulted by your surprise at that part of my statement, but I know, I was surprised too,” Essek said quietly, looking off to the side as he poured a more than generous quantity of wine for himself. “But it doesn’t matter any more.”

“What did you do to lose them?” Verin asked as he sat down. Essek took a breath, and then another. He was clearly gathering his thoughts as he did so, finally he gave up whatever mental game he was playing.

“I think there’s something wrong with me, Verin,” Essek admitted, meeting Verin’s gaze openly. “I used to think...I didn’t understand you at all growing up. I thought I was better, but...I think there’s something wrong with me.”  

“Essek…” Verin said, feeling something in his gut shift at Essek’s expression that twisted like he was in pain.

“I made a mistake, I did something...well, I did something for my own gain and I don’t even feel bad about it though I should. I only felt bad that the people close to me...that it hurt them,” Essek said scrubbing at his face. “I can’t understand it. I am trying so hard, I put the pieces together rationally, but I just can't make myself feel as I should."

"How do you think you should feel?" Verin asked.

"Guilty? Awful? Sad ?" Essek offered. "I just feel nothing, and then get frustrated that I feel nothing!"

"I can't help but admit that I'm at a loss for why you want my advice," Verin said quietly.

"Verin…" Essek sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Stop acting slow. I don't have anyone else to ask for advice."

"You do realize how depressing that is, right?" Verin asked him. "Me? You want to ask me ? You don't even like me!"

"By the Light! You are so dense !" Essek snapped and discarded common and began hissing at him in their first language. "Fine, here's me being honest. Yes, Verin, you are my annoying little brother. I find your savior complex insulting to my intelligence, I never found your jokes about my height funny, and you snore so loud I considered smothering you with a pillow because Mother and Father forced us to sleep into the same room-!"

"When our cousin's room was being remodeled? If you are being serious about the constant threat to my life as a child I will actually kill you, what in the nine hells Essek-!"

"So yes, Verin. I don't like you. But you are my brother. You know me better than anyone else in the world, we have a shared history. And I also know you don't like me, so I can trust you to be honest. So please, Verin, help me ," Essek said, his voice desperate, and his chest heaving with his desperation. "You are normal and I'm not and I need to know what I'm doing wrong."

"I don't think you are doing anything wrong...actively," Verin tried to explain, holding out his arms in an attempt to placate him. "You have just...you know, always been like this?"

"Like what?"

".. evil?"

"Well great," Essek said sarcastically, throwing his hands up. "Thank you, that makes me feel so much better."

"What do you want me to say?" Verin asked defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. "You didn't even cry at our father's funeral!"

"There wasn't a body!"

"Why does that matter?" Verin demanded, slamming his hand on the table. "You wouldn't have cried anyways! That’s the problem!"

"I can't fake it," Essek said, sounding honestly distressed. "How would faking it make anything better? If I don't feel it I don't feel it! I can't make myself be different, gods know I want to be."

"What do you want to be, Essek, honestly?" Verin asked his brother.

"I want to be the kind of person who the people I care about don't hate," Essek said quietly. "I'm just not sure it's possible."

"Essek, be serious, do you think the people who you became friends with would like you if you weren't acting like yourself?" Verin asked him, eyebrows shooting up.

"I don't know, it seems like it."

“Essek, really?”

Essek grimaced and downed his entire glass in one fell swoop. For a moment he seemed to truly consider the question, before just shaking his head and giving Verin a rueful smile. It was, perhaps, the most genuine expression that Verin had seen from his brother in years. For a moment he had to remember to breathe, because there he was. This was the Essek that Verin remembered between the pages of old textbooks and ducking between the pillars of their home. That Essek hadn’t been perfect, nor kind, but at least Essek was his brother. That had meant something in Verin’s life, a life that was full of starts and stops and highs and crushing lows all dictated by a woman who Verin was sure had never even seen them as people with lives outside of her. Verin wondered if it made her proud, how thoroughly she had destroyed them.  

"I wonder if I loved them, or the Essek I thought I could be with them," Essek said mournfully, looking at his hands arranged in his lap. "I wonder if I'm grieving them or that Essek. Grief...it’s new to me, as many things are these days."

“If they only liked who you were pretending to be, they never liked you at all,” Verin told him, settling his hand on Essek’s shoulder after a long pause. Essek tensed, but didn’t fight the touch. Verin was sure that he felt as Verin did, like he was crawling out of his own damn skin. But Verin pushed through it, because he could at least give this to Essek.

“That Essek would have probably been a better brother, the brother you deserved,” Essek said with a heavy sigh, pointedly not answering the other question. Verin was positive that Essek didn’t want to verbalize the answer.

“You aren’t technically the only brother I have...but you are my only brother ,” Verin said with a shrug as he removed his hand. “It’s not a question about what I deserve. Frankly, I could have been a better brother to you many times. I let you face the brunt of everything alone, and I’m sorry for that.”

“There were many times I loathed you for that,” Essek said, eyes closed and leaning back against the sofa. “But I also knew that I could handle it...handle her. You were a child...so, it wasn’t your fault. Out of the two of us, I knew I would survive.”

“You were a child too,” Verin said and Essek’s eyelid cracked open.

“I wasn’t a child as you were,” Essek said gently. “I wasn’t like you.”

“You are different from me, that doesn’t mean you weren’t a child,” Verin argued.

“Did I ever tell you that I was there when you were born?” Essek asked, startling Verin with the sudden change of topic. A smile pulled at his teeth. “I haven’t, have I? I remember it because Mother had just pulled me out of the school for my special tutoring. I was so special, I was twelve, and when I arrived home Mother was pregnant with you . She hadn’t even told me, I just showed up and she was ready to pop.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Verin asked, befuddled.

“Of course not,” Essek said with a wave. “She never wrote to me when I was away, and I never came back. All of twenty-four hours after coming home there she was screaming bloody murder in labor, and then she was screaming at me because I wasn’t paying attention to my studies. When I informed her that was going to be impossible with her screeching like a dying roc she threatened to pop my eyeballs out with her nails.”

Verin couldn’t help the laughter that escaped his throat, Essek just rolled his eyes.

“Anyways, to make a long story short, I was bitchy because I finally thought that Mother was paying attention to me and then Mother had to go and push you out not even one day later. Father handed you to me, and said, this is Verin. And I remember thinking you were the ugliest thing I ever saw-”

“Hey!”

“But you were there. And that was enough,” Essek said simply, coming to a neat and concise conclusion. “You have always been enough, Verin. I know that one day...well...this truce of ours may not last, but I wanted you to know that. I never wished that you were anyone else...even if you made me want to kill you and often I didn’t like you. But you were the only one I ever felt close to. You are my brother and maybe the only person in this world that I can consider my friend and though I’m not sure the feeling was mutual...I...”

“Thank you, Essek,” Verin said, his throat feeling oddly sore. “I felt the same.”

For a moment Verin could feel the weight of a hundred years between them. A hundred and ten years should have meant nothing to them, they were children of a soul unbound by time itself. And yet, all of those memories were tangible and meaningful. He and Essek had never known anything else and Verin wondered if that made them who they were. For the first time in Verin’s life, he believed that maybe Essek saw them that way too. Perhaps that was one thing they could agree upon, in a life that was so tangled up in complexity.

“Well, it’s getting late. I’ll teleport you to Bazzoxan tomorrow,” Essek said, getting up slowly, clearly not addressing Verin’s emotions or his sentiment. “The guest bedroom is the first room on the right at the top of the stairs.”

“Wait...Essek,” Verin said and Essek paused, turned, and looked at him. “I’m sorry about your friends. I hope that things work out.”

“Good night, Verin,” Essek said, before floating away.

Verin wondered if he was trying to escape him, or if Essek couldn’t dare to dream.

[lordbeyron]

By Any Other Name

Tyrellius Duskfury exhaled sharply out of his nose. His mask hid well the disapproving scowl on his face, as he escorted Lady Silentspear into Everblaze Manor. While the Demon Hunter didn't see in the same way as his elven kin, he could still perceive his surroundings well. Better than most, thanks to his prime bound demon. Observers saw the world through many different lenses. And now, so did he. Everblaze Manor was… gaudy. Crimson drapery with golden filigree, the grandiose portrait frames and statue busts lining the corridors-- most of which depicted Lord Everblaze himself, of course-- the vaulted ceiling crowded with dimly lit chandeliers... all of it shiney and extravagant! The manor was a monument to the Magister's narcissism, most assuredly. Tyrellius found himself glad, for once, that he'd gouged his real eyes out to spare them the true pain of seeing all this naturally.

Tydori, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. A rather slender woman, she walked the halls of the Manor with such grace and reverence, any passer-by could have mistaken her for master of the domain. If not for the garish horns protruding from her raven hair, perhaps. She dressed the part nonetheless; an elegant black dress with red and gold trim. A blindfold to match. Simple, but all the same displayed a fealty to the High Kingdom. And that wasn’t an accident. For months, since stepping into the spotlight of the Council, she’s long represented the side of Quel’Thalas often left too forgotten by those living in the luxury of Silvermoon. Soldiers and citizens, all who have made often-overlooked sacrifices. She needed no extravagant dress or peacocky attire. Hers was a platform of simplicity and fealty. And she wore it well in both the literal and figurative sense.

That’s why they were here, Tyrellius could only surmise; Lady Silentspear’s controversial propositions had tipped the Sun Council itself on its head. Outraged at her “radical” ideas for reformation, she was dismissed… much to the ire of the people whom she represented. Protests, riots, anger in all its forms from civil to ugly all erupted throughout Silvermoon. Unintended by Tydori, of course, but Tyrellius knew she wouldn’t have been invited to a Councilor’s estate if noise hadn’t been made on her behalf. Though, he never expected Lord Bey’ron Everblaze, of all the Councilors, to be the one who would reach out first. An odd move, even for him. Despite the support she’d garnered from her fellow elves, to any politician she was a poison; was Lord Everblaze truly so powerful-- or arrogant-- to host her like this without losing face?

The pair of demon hunters stepped into a large room; dimly lit, but that was no issue for them. Bookshelves lined the walls. And where there weren’t bookshelves, there were more paintings-- scenery in this room, rather than portraits. In the center of the room were three luxurious chaise lounges, all circled about an elegant table of food and wine. No guards. No attendants. The room was as empty as a tomb. Magic permeated the air throughout, causing Tyrellius’ ears to flicker with unease. Was this a trick? He wasn’t fond of the idea before, and grew less so by the second. His hands settled onto the hilts of his weapons as he stepped out ahead of Tydori to better examine the lounge. Nothing looked too unusual, save a few remnant portal signatures slowly dissipating into the ambient arcana. He approached the sitting area, Tydori waiting as patiently and quietly as she always did for her trusted hand to inspect the scene. The food, while delivered via magical means, was real. Fresh, too. Grapes from a vineyard, sliced meats and cheeses… and red wine in a small cask-- their host’s vintage, it seemed. Tyrellius grunted, before nodding to Tydori. All seemed well enough… for the moment.

“How long are we to wait here for him, before we get on with our lives?” he asked, no shortage of bile in his tone.

Tydori approached, and placed a hand on Tyrellius’ shoulder. Wordless, yet it said all he needed to hear. He exhaled a sigh, ears wilting as he dipped his head.

“... I know. I’m sorry. I’m just on edge. I’ve heard… things… about this Magister.”

“--Good things, I hope.”

A pair of bookshelves across the room opened up, revealing Magister Everblaze. He smirked at his guests as he entered the room, and bowed his head.

“Lady Tydori Silentspear. I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation today.” he grinned, approaching the sitting area.

Tydori bowed her head politely, her ruby lips curling into a polite smile. Tyrellius, however, simply crossed his arms. Bey’ron raised his brow curiously, at the rather mixed reception.

“... I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I know you Illidari are used to a certain hastiness, hmm?”

“--I’m sure you mean punctuality, Milord.” Tyrellius corrected, unabashedly.

“Mm… certainly so.” Bey’ron grinned at him, before motioning to the chaise lounges. “Why don’t we sit, hmm? Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Tydori once again dipped her head, before lowering herself into one of the seats. Bey’ron did the same, settling into his preferred chair. Tyrellius remained standing, arms crossed as he stared at the Magister. He’d seen him before, once or twice in passing; always dressed in lavish robes, and wearing that cocky smirk. His entire person soaked in arcana-- and a streak of fel magic inherent to most Blood Elves. Yet now, the Magister’s attire was simple. Almost humble for him. Unusual, considering everything he’d seen so far of Lord Everblaze’s lifestyle. Was it a ploy of some kind to relate to Lady Silentspear? Or a gaff at her expense? Perhaps neither; perhaps Lord Everblaze didn’t find this meeting worth dressing up for. Insulting, no matter the case. Tyrellius was normally reserved and accepting, but… something about Bey’ron rubbed him the wrong way. He kept still, statuesque, mask hiding the glare on his face. But Bey’ron seemed to know it was there… and smirked at Tyrellius as if he didn’t care. As if he welcomed it.

“I admit, I’ve been greatly impressed by your resilience through all this, Lady Silentspear. Your Councilorship has not been the smoothest, has it?” the Magister began, folding his hands atop one another in his lap. “And yet, you endure. You persevere. I find your tenacity inspiring, I must say.”

“--With all due respect, is this a joke, Milord?” Tyrellius chimed in. “You know as well as I do that Milady Silentspear has been dismissed from the Council by you and your fellow Councilors, hasn’t she?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. That’s not entirely accurate.” Bey’ron got his turn to correct. “Councilorship isn’t just granted and revoked by declaration alone. There’s a lengthy process to both. The Council’s intention is unaltered, presently, but she’s not been stripped of the honorific just yet.”

He turned his attention to Lady Silentspear, and dipped his head.

“That, frankly, is what I’ve invited you here to discuss, Lady Silentspear. I’m curious what it is you want. What you hope to achieve. If our goals align… perhaps we can attain them together, hmm?”

“Milady Silentspear’s goals are quite clear, I believe.” Tyrellius spoke up once more. “She outlined them succinctly in the draft of her most recent proposition. One which you and the Council--”

“--Forgive me, Master Duskfury, was it?” Bey’ron’s voice raised, eyes narrowing at the Illidari as his smirk vanished. “I’d thank you to hold your commentary, hmm? I was addressing Lady Silentspear.”

Tyrellius exhaled sharply once more, shaking his head.

“I speak on her behalf, Lord Everblaze.” he explained. “A side effect of the sacrifice she made, and the pact she formed… Milady Silentspear doesn’t speak any language but one, now. Not one that elves inherently understand.”

Rather than appear surprised, as Tyrellius expected the Magister to, Bey’ron simply chuckled lightly. His emerald eyes flickered, settling once more on Lady Silentspear, as his fingers steepled in his lap.

“Worry not, Master Duskfury. This is something I anticipated.” he grinned. “I know Lady Silentspear hasn’t been one to address anyone publicly. And her propositions were all delivered by Council Orators, never by herself. It wasn’t hard to piece together her vocal limitations. I assure you… I’m quite capable of carrying out a conversation with her on my own. Reza kil xi nath (We won’t be needing you).”

Tydori’s ears flickered, as Bey’ron switched fluidly to the Demonic tongue. She turned, looking to Tyrellius, who appeared equally surprised. His brow knit behind his mask, as he exhaled a grunt of disapproval.

“Hmph… You’re a warlock then.” he derisively accused.

“Oh, please, Master Duskfury. That’s such a savage nomenclature, don’t you think? I’m not some ritualistic demon-worshipper, like an Orcish warlock.” he grinned. “No, I’m a Magister. My interests and pursuits into the Fel and Demonology have all been scholarly, I assure you.”

“Zi nar falak tu zu kanil (You’re full of surprises, Lord Everblaze).”

Both turned to Tydori, as she finally spoke aloud. Her felfire gaze glowed a bit brighter, shining through her blindfold as she peered at Bey’ron. The Magister dipped his head, and replied to her, in kind.

“Gek toro ix vesk taniz (Our paths aren’t so different).” he assured her with a nod, before speaking in his native Thalassian once more. “If it pleases you, we can converse freely like this, hmm? No need for your translator.”

“(He’ll stay. But I’ll speak for myself, now.)” Tydori replied. “(I admit… it’s nice to have a direct conversation again.)”

“One of the many ways I’m sure we’ll work well together, hmm?” Bey’ron grinned. “So please, tell me… what is your ultimate goal in these propositions you’re creating? You seem to have public interests at the forefront of your agenda.”

“(Of course. I’m an Illidari, Magister Everblaze. We’re but one group of many sin’dorei who are criminally under-represented in the Spire.)” Tydori elaborated. “(By design, the Sun Council is a nepotistic exclusive group, suited to serve the nobility best, and everyone else sparingly. That has to change.)”

“On that, I think we agree. But it won’t change overnight, Milady. You’re talking about altering the foundation of the Sun Council itself. That will take time.” Bey’ron advised, before plucking a glass of wine from the table. “What is your plan, precisely? Brute-forcing propositions won’t work, I’m afraid. You must realize that now, hmm?”

“(I… do, yes.)” the Illidari exhaled a light sigh. “(Perhaps I was too… ‘hasty’, as you put it.)”

Tyrellius scoffed lightly.

“(But that’s only because this goal is an important one. Our Kingdom has changed greatly over the last few years. Old mindsets no longer suit our needs.)” she elaborated, her tone brimming with conviction. “(Modernizing organizations like the Sun Council are the first steps towards building a better Quel’thalas. For everyone. Not just the nobility.)”

“Mm. Then we should do so mindfully.”

Bey’ron nodded in agreement, before taking a sip of wine from his glass. He eyed Tydori for a moment, silently, before leaning towards her.

“You know… I wasn’t always a noble. My beginnings were humble, if you can believe it. I had to build up my name. It wasn’t already pristine and revered, like the one you inherited.”

His lips curled, eyes flickering a bit brighter.

“Or… should I say stole?”

Tydori reached for a glass as Bey’ron spoke-- pausing to look up at him at his last accusatory word. Her brow raised; not in confusion, but light panic. Tyrellius stepped forward, hands slipping up to his sides.

“--I insist you show Milady Silentspear respect, Lord Everblaze!” he growled. “You’ll not slander her so in my presence!”

“Oh? Is this all for show, then? Or does your pet not know, Lady Silentspear?” Bey’ron grinned. “I have a theory on who you really are… maybe you’ll confirm it for me, hmm?”

Without hesitation, Tyrellius drew his blade and pointed it threateningly at Bey’ron. His eyes ignited in felflames, glowing brightly behind his cloth mask.

“That’s enough out of you, you arrogant, slimy--”

“(Tyrellius.)” Tydori interjected. “(Stand down.)”

Tyrellius turned, brow raised at Tydori. He could sense it-- her demeanor had changed from one of silent confidence to quiet shame. Her shoulders sank, chin dipping as she leaned back in her seat. Like a child caught stealing treats, she folded her hands before her. The strength in her aura, too, diminished. Something was amiss. Slowly, he sheathed his blade, looking between the two Councilors warily. Bey’ron only chuckled.

“He doesn’t, then… a pity. Do you wish to tell him, or should I?”

Tydori remained quiet.

“... So be it.” the Magister smirked. “Lady Tydori Silentspear went to Outland and fought as part of the Sunfury. But she never became an Illidari. She died in Netherstorm, defending a Manaforge from Aldor forces. Isn’t that right?”

Tydori still kept quiet and still; her silence still rather telling.

“This woman, to which you’ve pledged your fealty, Master Duskfury… I suspect is actually Tanori Flaresorrow, Lady Silentspear’s trusted seneschal and close personal friend. My theory is that upon her Mistress’ death, she joined the Illidari… and then stole Lady Silentspear’s identity once your kind were accepted back into Quel’thalas. A name like hers carried such weight - a shame to see it wasted. Am I right?”

Tyrellius shook his head in disbelief. He turned to the other Illidari fully, leaning down at her. He could feel it; her heart rate increasing, beating hard in her chest. Her cheeks grew flush with embarrassment or shame. She didn’t need to say anything to confirm what Bey’ron claimed.

“... By the Sun…” he muttered, defeatedly.

“(That’s not why I did it.)” Tydori-- rather, Tanori admitted. “(I swore I would do everything I could to uphold her family name and its values. Nothing I’ve done has been outside her intent and wishes! Turn me in if you wish, Lord Everblaze, but know that Tydori had nothing to do with this! I won’t see you drag her name through the mud!)”

“--Oh… you misunderstand, my dear.” Bey’ron shook his head, idly swirling the wine in his glass. “I’m not going to turn you in. You’ve turned Lady Silentspear’s name into a beacon, and the citizens are rallying around it. That has uses. You have uses.”

“--Bastard! This is why you brought her here? To blackmail her?” Tyrellius snarled.

“On the contrary… I meant everything I’ve said thus far. Our goals may align well here. And my keeping this little secret is… let’s call it a show of good faith, hmm?”

A dozen thoughts swarmed Tyrellius’ mind all at once. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade once more, as he stared with disdain at Bey’ron. Tydori had been a long time friend… he never knew she’d lied about any of this. But was it so bad? He knew her intentions were pure. Would it be worth continuing to serve her? Or would the lies pull him apart from the inside out? What of Bey’ron? Tyrellius knew he could kill him, here and now. But… no, that would only make things worse. His staff knew he was meeting Tydori and him today. Turning up a corpse of their master right after? It wouldn’t be hard to piece it together.

“... Leverage, then.” he grunted.

“Call it what you will.” Bey’ron shrugged, before taking another sip of his wine. “My offer stands; reintroducing Lady Silentspear into the Council, and helping her gradually bring about positive change, is still very much in line with my own agenda. Details aside, we can help one another out. With your support of the citizenry and my clout in the Council Chambers? I’m confident we can see certain improvements made. Effectively, too.”

“(I won’t manipulate our people like that!)” Tanori frowned.

“--More than you already have, you mean? With your lies? With your silent consent of their aggression?” the Magister chuffed. “You’ve made it decently far on your own merit, my dear, but you won’t get much further without someone helping you. No matter how you look at it… that’s what I’m offering.”

With that, the Magister stood up. Tyrellius stepped forward, ready to intervene or apprehend him if he tried anything… but Bey’ron simply smirked at him again. Gloating over him. Mocking him, like a dog at the end of its leash. He knew there was nothing Tyrellius could do. Not without only harming himself, or his mistress. Lightly, Bey’ron bowed his head to Tanori, and turned to depart.

“I’ll give you a few days to think it over, hmm?” he offered his parting words. “Feel free to linger, if you wish. See yourselves out at your leisure. We’ll be in touch, to be sure.”

With that, Lord Everblaze departed in the same manner by which he’d entered. The bookcase doors closed behind him, leaving the two Illidari alone once more in the elegant lounge. Tanori was silent for a moment longer; less in a quiet dignity, and more out of speechlessness. Tyrellius grunted, as he looked her over. His blood felt like it was boiling-- to be lied to for so long! If he had known, he could have protected her better, or helped conceal it. But now, this Magister had her locked in his grip, and there was no easy way out. Tanori seemed to feel the same way.

“(... I’m sorry, Tyrellius.)” she muttered, quietly. “(I should have told you.)”

“It’s too late for that now, Milady.” he replied, with a grunt. “Instead, we need to figure out what we can do about this.”

Tanori shook her head, before looking up at Tyrellius. Even behind her blindfold, he could see her eyes were dim. Extinguished.

“(What choice do we have?)”

~*~

[korkrunchcereal]

Lohn’goron

                                     Death has been broken

                                  In the struggles of the self

                                          To fight is to live  

Once more Gargaron Khral found himself upon his familiar rise over the Barrens. So often he had sat upon its crest that the dry grass and crumbling dirt had become indented, his meditation imprinted upon the land he called home. A welcome breeze helped to cool his skin from the unrelenting warmth of the sun, and the soft cry of a bird sounded in the distance.

Beyond the hills of the Barrens, the peaks of Stonetalon Mountain were visible, jutting forth from the earth like gnarled and mangled fangs. From up high Gargaron watched the land, curiosity glimmering from his eyes. A pack of zhevra that so far below were but splotches of black and white grazed with little fear, for instinct and familiarity had made the grasslands comfortable. They thought themselves safe. From above, Gargaron knew otherwise.

He saw metal catching the sun’s rays, the reflection gleaming across sharpened steel and into his eyes. Gargaron blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. Another orc stalked the zhevra, a spear in hand. The wind blew against the hunter, masking their scent from the herd. Each step closer seemed like hours upon the sun’s fall, Gargaron’s muscles strangely tense with the anticipation of the hunt; of the kill to come.

“He will not kill them, you know.” A woman’s voice called behind Gargaron, familiar enough to draw his attention away. He craned his neck, looking upon an orc woman. He had seen her before, and his brows furrowed in annoyance.

“You.” It was neither name or title for Gargaron did not know them, and so it would serve as both greeting and warning.

“Khral.” She answered, giving a short nod of her head.

“Why are you here? Come to trick me again?” He turned to look back down upon the hunt, puzzled that he could not find either hunter or zhevra that had been there moments before.

“Trick? You are mistaken, warlord.”

“I told you, I am no longer warlord!” He snapped his teeth in irritation, waving his hand dismissively. Some time ago the woman had sought Gargaron’s help to investigate the ruins of a Kor’kron barracks. Instead he had found the one-time Warlord Skullcrusha, rotting away in his shell of hatred. The two had argued, leaving Gargaron brewing with resentment of both Skullcrusha and himself. When he had left the barracks the woman was nowhere to be found.

“So you have proclaimed. Thrice now.” The woman moved to sit beside Gargaron, seemingly oblivious to his simmering rage…or simply ignoring it. The grass did not stir at her approach nor as she sat. “As I was saying, I did not trick you.”

“You led me to him.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was there, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She repeated, her eyes watching something in the grass below that Gargaron could not find.

“Why?”

“To begin your journey.”

“Journey?” Gargaron turned to look at her in confusion, blinking in shock when he saw she was gone. He shot up to his feet, eyes narrowing as he looked around. Already the sun had dropped low, being caught upon the teeth of Stonetalon. His nose twitched, the scent of something sweet filling his senses.

“Yes, journey. You have languished too long in this place; your spirit atrophies from your doubts. Your fears. Your nightmares.”

“Bah!” Gargaron whirled around, trying to find the woman. The cliff he had been standing on shrunk, as did the northern mountains. His toes curled in grass wet with dew, and he looked to find he no longer stood in the Barrens. Confusion and doubt filled his senses, and he reached instinctively for a weapon that had long been buried.

“hmm.” The short sound was laced in amusement. “This is where your doubts began…do you remember this place?”

“I…” Gargaron’s hands clenched, the orc eyeing the surrounding landscape. He had been here before, though not as it became. “Nagrand. This is Draenor.”

“Yes. The false world made reality. The wrongness here…it weeps like an open wound. But what did you find here, Gargaron Khral?”

“Disappointment.” Was his answer. “Disappointment…and failure.” The orc collapsed into the grass, feeling a great weight pull him down. A part of him was distrustful at what he said, for he spoke freely of his burdens to an unfamiliar entity. Yet it felt right, a feeling he barely remembered.

“Yes. The chains of your doubt hold you here, in this memory.” Thick fingers pressed against his back, kneading into the taunt muscles and causing him to tense. “It’s alright. Relax…”. He groaned, instinctively leaning back into the touch. He felt her face and two small tusks press against the back of his neck, their tips piercing skin and drawing blood. his eyes glancing out of the corner to see curls of red hair fall across his shoulder.

“I-“

“Shhh…” the voice interrupted, a soft whisper against his ear. “Her hair is like a bellowing fire, and her skin like the deepest ocean. She is wild, her passion dancing like a roaring flame. A promise, made under foreign moons. A regret, carried until the end of the world.”

“The weight of it all; leadership, the Horde…it was too much. I let her go so that I could focus on survival, on the Kor’kron and…” he sighed, disappointment lacing his words. “And I still believe I made the wrong choice.”

“She is not your only failure on this world though, is she? Look, Gargaron.”

Gargaron looked and felt a surge of panic fill his being, nearly causing him to flee. Two orcs charged at one another, weapons drawn and war cries loosened. One wore plates of blackened steel forged with the crude blows of a tyrant’s will. The other wore plates of crimson to match the figure’s hair, with a face so much like Gargaron’s own. Younger, but the weight of sin had begun to etch itself into his features. Gargaron watched his doppelganger strike down the black plated warrior, before falling to its knees.

“How many orcs did you kill?”

“I don’t know. A hundred? A thousand? More than I ever wished.”

“Yes…the sins of your people are marked upon every inch of your body. You had heard of the orcs; how their proud legacy had been twisted by ambition and cruelty. The great lie of nobility. Then you learned the truth, didn’t you?”

“The orcs,” Gargaron began, trying to find the words. “They…we are a violent race of monsters. I had been naïve enough to believe the stories. To believe our history was one of survival, and strength born of noble purpose. I believed…” he paused, letting his head fall into one of his hands with eyes closed. “I believed we were better than what we became…could be better.”

“But you feel that is mistaken?”

“I know it is!” He barked, raising his head once more to look upon his reflection. He had known then the great lie or had at least begun to suspect it. “All it took was a tyrant’s words to sway my people! An orc, who had no gift for speechcraft convinced an entire race to commit wanton violence and horrendous atrocities and for what purpose? What grand and ‘noble purpose’ was there?! We are a race drowning in the sea of our own bloodlust! In a thousand years…no a hundred years what will remain of the orcs? There will be no great ruins of our civilization or recording of our culture. All we will leave is the scars we have placed upon the universe.”

He received no response, feeling the soothing touch upon his back fade. Something harsh drags across his muscles now, and he winces in pain. He stands, finding himself upon the shores of a shattered island. There are bodies everywhere, both Horde and Alliance and the acrid stench of sulphur and blood overwhelms him. He turns, vomiting into the sand. His eyes water, breaths laborious as he recovers.

“This is where the Horde died…and in many ways you did as well, Gargaron.” Gargaron wearily glanced around to find the voice, before looking down. The woman lay in the sand before him, several purple fletched arrows buried in her chest and neck. They were not of Alliance make, for their barbed tips betrayed their owner.

“The dead; they’re up to my knees here.” Gargaron stated, spitting out the after taste of his vomit in disgust. “Look at them left to die! Sylvanas did not care! The horde did not care!”

“But you did. The chains of Draenor bound you, slowed you but did not keep you. You fought still.”

“Of course I fought!” he took a step forward, the bodies of man, orc and elf replaced with that of demons. There is no island here. There is but a dead world, twisted by foul purpose. Something charges at Gargaron, and he instinctively swings up. His sword makes contact and-

-his sword. The weight is almost unfamiliar in his hands. The Sword of Khral, both Gargaron’s namesake and the lineage he aspired to. The blade, so sharp as to sever muscle, sinew, and bone as if hot butter sliced through his attacker with ease.

“Yes. You fought…and fought. And fought. And fought for that was the law of Argus.” Argus. A name Gargaron had learned to hate and fear in equal measure. “And how long did you fight?”

“I do not know.” He answered. He spoke the truth; the Twisting Nether was a strange realm of chaos and entropy, and Argus sat within its churning madness. For all Gargaron knew he had fought for countless millennia, in a never-ending tide of slaughter and carnage. The demon’s had given him a name, spoken in hushed whispers among their misbegotten kind. He was ruin, an omen of catastrophe given rage at the end of a blood slick sword.

Even now, Gargaron felt sick from it all.

“It fills you with disgust. I can feel it. Why?”

“It reminds me that despite all my best efforts…despite everything I have done to be more than my bloody heritage, that I will always be slave to my base nature. How can I strive to show my people are more than our weapons and our hatred, when I succumb to the same mindless bloodlust. And..and it reminds me of him.” A nameless title for a beast given the mockery of orcish form.

““Skullcrusha.”

“Yes. Is that to be the eventual fate of our people? Monsters driven by bestial wrath, with reason replaced by animalistic fury?” Each word spoken gave form to the nightmare, the tyrant he had dreamed so often of now stood before Gargaron. He was goliath in size, looming over Gargaron and casting his dark shadow.

“You fear him because you fear this is what you may become. Take a look upon him Gargaron…you may find pity.”

“Pity!?” Gargaron guffawed, waving his hand in outrage. “Pity for this monster?! I-“ he paused, seeing the bands around Skullcrusha. He saw the chains, clasped around wrist, ankle and throat. He saw the strings, tugging at arms and legs like a puppeteer.

“Pity, because he has never known freedom. In all the long years he has existed, he has been slave to another. His purpose in life is only to serve…and I find that quite sad. But it is not the only legacy you loath, is it?” Her words faded in the wind as did Argus, bringing now the stench of burning meat and ash, and he finds his eyes begin to sting as smoke swirls around him. He coughs, his lungs filled with the acrid taste of a roaring fire. He flicks his hand, trying in vain to wave away the smoke.

The wasteland had disappeared, and in its stead was water. A vast ocean lay before him, yet that paled in comparison to the monolithic tree that was Darnassus…and Darnassus was burning. Gargaron had not watched its fall, though heard from his infrequent visits to civilization. There was only one word for the destruction of the Kal’dorei home. Genocide. By the ancestors, he could hear them scream. Gargaron fell to his knees, covering his ears in vain. He glanced up, seeing the orc woman staring at him with curiosity.

“Gah! Make it stop! Their screams are deafening!”

“This is where you died, Gargaron. Though you did not step foot upon the coast of Darkshore, nor witness Darnassus’ fall this is where Gargaron Khral was buried. Why?”

“Why!?” Gargaron roared in anger, waving his hands to the destruction. “Look at it! This is all the Horde has ever been! One bloody massacre after another.” As he raged, Darnassus began to fade, the titanic tree twisting and turning until wood became stone, and branches became walls. Yet still it burned, and upon banners blue and lions gold the fire still raged.

“Mmm…You were a child for this, weren’t you? Too young to remember…but you cannot forget the bright roar of the flames, so blinding for your small eyes or the screams of murder so loud that you cried.”

“The echoes of our history.” Gargaron muttered, finally pulling himself to his feet to watch the city’s destruction. “This is all the orcs are…all the Horde is.” His voice is soft, defeated and he feels tears welling up. “This is all I am.”

“No.” A single word, the conviction of it shaking Gargaron. He turns to look at her, confusion evident on his face.

“No? All I have seen is that I am doomed to failure; that my people are and will always be nothing more than monsters and the Horde little more than the prop of a mad warchief desperate for power. That I…” he paused for a moment, collecting himself. “That I am nothing more than a fool pretending to be a noble warrior.”

“No.” She repeated. “You shoulder the burden of a people, and expect not to collapse beneath its weight?” A barking laughter was given as answer to her own question. “No one is that strong Gargaron. Not even you.”

“Then what am I?”

“A warrior. A blademaster. A warlord…A Khral. You are all of these things and so much more, Gargaron. Come, look once more upon your nightmare.” She waved a hand to her left, Gargaron’s gaze following the motion to once more stare at Skullcrusha, still enchained and enthralled. “Did you know he was once a pale orc?” She smiled at the look of shock Gargaron gave her. “Yes, those wretched things you met on Draenor. His mind was already plaything to darker powers…It was only natural the leash was passed from one tyrant’s hands to another. But not you, Gargaron. Though you were raised in the Internment Camps, you have known real freedom. Love. Passion. Family. Yes, even disappointment, defeat, and sorrow. You have felt life in all its purest forms.”

“Defeat…is life?”

“Of course. How can we grow stronger if we are not challenged…if we are not defeated? How can we be more than what we are if we do not fail?” She paused for a moment, before sighing. “You will always carry the burden of your people. Of your legacy. That cannot be changed, and for that I hope you can forgive yourself…and me.”

Gargaron turned to face her, only to find himself once more upon his cliff overlooking the Barrens, the mountains of Stonetalon catching the sun’s light far to the north. He blinked, looking around in confusion before shaking his head. Idly he scratched his beard, looking down over the cliff side. He felt hands upon his shoulders once more, though did not tense up this time. His eyes closed, and he saw the ocean’s skin and hair of fire.

“You have fought to erase your failure’s for so long, Gargaron. You have fought for Warchiefs, Warlords and conquerors…it’s time to fight for something else.”

“What is there to fight for?” He asked aloud. Her image faded, replaced with that of Garrosh. A single word entered his mind. Power. Another image, that of Skullcrusha and another word. Servitude. Third came an image of Varok Saurfang, an orc Gargaron had not thought of for some time though learned had recently passed. To die.

“Indeed, what is there to fight for? Why do we fight?”

“You sound like one of the Pandaren…” Gargaron muttered.

“There is wisdom in the question. Why do we fight, Gargaron? Sometimes, the answer is simply because we must. Because to not fight is to allow darkness to take hold; to allow tyrants and monsters a foot in the door. Sometimes we must fight to live.” It was not images or words that filled him then, but passions. He felt the warmth of a campfire and of a woman’s touch. He felt the heartbeat of a wolf, pounding against his skin. He felt joy and wonder and…and…

And life.

He felt it all for but a moment, before it was carried away by a chill wind. Gargaron’s eyes opened as he realized he was now alone. He looked down upon dead grass and barren soil. It was dark now, and cold as if it was to rain but there was no cloud in sight. He felt uneasy, realizing then he could not hear a single sound. He was not deaf, but rather there simply was no life anywhere. Not the sound of animals, nor the howl of the wind.

“A darkness is coming, Gargaron.” Her voice echoed in his mind, booming like thunder in the silence. “To the far north upon frozen shores, the veil has been breached. Fight to stop it. Fight for the right to live. Fight, because if you do not then all of creation is at risk. Close your eyes Gargaron…and awaken.”

Gargaron shot up from his bed, sweat pouring off of his brow. He looked around, wide eyed. The fire in his home had long since turned to embers, and from what he could see beneath the flap of his hut it was nearing sunset. He groaned, pushing himself up to sit on the bed’s edge. How long had he been asleep, and had he been dreaming? He must have been, though it did little to ease his unrest. Absentmindedly he rubbed the back of his neck, pausing as he felt something wet. Slowly he brought his hand forward and even in the dim light he could see fresh blood.

“What the…” his eyes went wide, remembering his dream. Outside he heard his wolf howl, giving a long mournful wail. “Rosha!” he shouted for her, already pulling himself out of the bed. Her cry sent a chill running up his spine and as he pulled away the hut’s flap he gasped. Dark clouds were approaching from the Stonetalon mountains, so vast as to swallow both the sun and sky.

His wolf stepped beside him, whining as she nuzzled his leg. Gargaron glanced down and knelt, hands gently playing at her mane. “Something is wrong girl. I know you can feel it. I can too.” He looked back to the rapidly approaching clouds, feeling uneasy. A cold wind blew across his chest, causing him to shiver.

“The veil has been breached…” he muttered, repeating the words in his dream. “An ill omen from the same mysterious woman met with a sky that flees the northern winds...Perhaps...” He stood up, sighing. He had fled from this moment for too long now. He turned around, moving back into the hut to kneel in front of the fire. Rosha quietly approached beside him, sitting to watch. His hands dug through the embers, causing him to wince in pain. He continued to dig through the ashes and into the ground, pulling out handfuls of dirt. “Well?! Help me out!” Rosha yapped, before digging her paws beside him.

They dug for several minutes, the floor slowly crumbling away until he was near a foot below. The dirt gave way to a steel box, and Gargaron brushed at it. With a grunt he pulled, the length of it as tall as he was. It had been years since he first opened the box, and slowly almost in reverence he unlatched the clasps. The steel creaked with the motion and with a gentle touch he grasped the hilt of his weapon. Orcish runes glowed faintly as he pulled forth his blade, and for a moment the very air stilled as if in tense. The Sword of Khral felt as familiar to him as the last time he carried it, as if an extension of his own arm. It felt good. Right. He had run from his failures; of her, and of his people and the Horde. It was time to stop running.

 “I have hidden from my regrets for too long, Rosha. I’ll never be rid of this malaise; of that I am sure of. But…I can fight it. To live. Now come! We leave for Ratchet. With luck we will find passage to Northrend, for that must be where I am called to fight. Ancestors know what evil that wretched place has spawned now.”

[urlneverheardofit]

The Black Prince and the White Lion

I’m realizing I’ve never actually posted any of my work to this website and figured I should, so here’s a little excerpt from my latest piece. Note the most intense this portion gets is sex jokes,’the talk”(tm) Dragon edition, and a make-out session sooo yeah.

Chapter 1: The Black Prince

The Black Prince. Such an honorable title for such a hated position.

Dragon,

Son of a mad king,

Last of his kind.

The Black Prince had a lot stacked against him when it came to his reputation, even more so because of the madness and corruption that ran in his blood.

Still, Wrathion did his best to alleviate the concerns of his other draconic kin. After all, Neltharion was not the only dragon aspect to go mad. Malygos too followed in that path, the madness manifested differently but the Nexus War was plenty of evidence to be a testament to Malygos' fall. As well as the Aspect of Time, who had gone mad in an alternate timeline. The Earth Warder, The Spell Weaver, and The Infinite all fallen to the insanity of one kind or another.

Yet all the other dragon aspects. Hell, the entirety of Azeroth, looked at him with disdain, anger, and even fear in some cases. When Wrathion had been younger, many citizens in the major cities of Stormwind and Orgrimmar had approached him, demanding compensation for the loss of their loved ones or personal effects lost in the attack on both major cities. The attacks carried out by Deathwing. Not Wrathion.

It was a relief for him that after the death of his father, the world moved on. The mystical lands of Pandaria had been rediscovered and Wrathion had swiftly moved from his makeshift lair in Onyxia’s former lair. He hadn’t hated that place as much as he had hated Nefarian’s lair.

Nefarian’s Lair had been a place where dragons had been experimented on to create abominations to further Nefarian’s plans.

The worst part was Nefarian was Wrathion’s half-brother. United by the blood of their father, who was worse than the horrible experimenter that was Nefarian. Onyxia, the brood mother, had been bad too, helping hatch the armies that later became Deathwing’s servants. His half-siblings had chosen their lairs well. The Black Dragonflight had once been noble protectors of Azeroth and their choices in lair reflected such. Neltharion had a cave deep underground somewhere on a lost island that had served as his lair for many thousands of years. Nefarian had chosen a castle fortress carved into the side of a mountain. Onyxia had chosen a cave that spiraled down for miles and miles and whose mouth was shaped like a dragon’s toothy maw.

Wrathion, on the other hand, had not yet chosen a lair, partially because he was unsure if he would grow to be the size of his father, whose wingspan had reached more than 1,000 feet long, or if he would stop about the size Onyxia and Netharion had. That would end up helping determine Wrathion’s lair, along with the fact Wrathion had not found a good lair yet. He was still traveling and learning what he could from his sibling's lairs. Many of Nefarian’s notes and discoveries could help turn the tides against any coming threats to Azeroth, but the execution was questionable at best. Some of his studies were more interested in the differences between the dragon flights. What gave them power and such, which were much more readily useful.

Onyxia’s lair served as a place for him to learn to transform back and forth from humanoid to dragon form. It was a long and painful process at first but eventually, he learned to make his humanoid form look a little more grown than his whelp form.

Though perhaps he could see why people could be a bit intimidated, he wasn't them! It wasn't fair to judge him for the crimes of his crazed kin.

His dragon form was just a whelp still, he couldn’t lie in his true form the way he could in his humanoid. His humanoid form looked like a young male human with glowing red eyes, long curly black hair, and olive skin.

“Wrathion?” A voice said from the entrance of the tavern in Pandaria that Wrathion had taken up residence in. Wrathion jolted up from where he had been reclining before, lost in thought. An orcish woman stood in the entryway, blocking out the sunlight and whoever was behind her. He could sense their movement hear their hushed voices.

“What is it Left?” He asked calmly, Left was one of his devoted bodyguards. Left was her spy name, only Wrathion knew her identity due to security concerns. Right was his other, a human woman who was gifted in the finer manipulation of tactics and war. A true spy compared to Left’s more being an obvious bodyguard.

The tavern he had taken up residence in was a small two-story building tucked away in a nearly untravelable mountain pass, keeping it hidden and mostly safe. Part of the reason why Wrathion had chosen this place to begin with.

“Someone of high importance wishes to speak with you,” Left answered.

“Me?” Wrathion cocked his head innocently. “Send them in.”

Wrathion’s confidence fell away instantly when Left stood aside revealing the King of Stormwind standing at his door.

Chapter 2: The White Lion

This was all that was left of the horrific Deathwing? Anduin peered past the shadow of his father to look at the alleged "Black Prince" and found himself quite surprised at what he found; a boy just barely younger than him staring back at him.

"The infamous Black Prince." Anduin's father began, crossing his arms over his chest.

The boy looked up at the King, his red eyes betraying none of the his thoughts. "Black Emperor now. Thanks only to the Champions of the Alliance who were responsible for the death of my father." The boy spoke plainly, eloquently and as though he was raised among royalty, not by dragons or wolves or whatever else Anduin had imagined him growing up with.

"Are you saying you'd rather that monster was still alive today?" Varian snarled.

"Of course not." The boy looked at his long black claw-like nails, brushing them off idly. "But think of it this way, I am the Emperor of my kind and I'm not any older than the little lion cowering behind you."

Anduin flinched from being called out like that. He spoke much the way that Onyxia had many years before. Nearly the same tone of voice and mannerisms but not quite intimidating enough to pull it off entirely.

"He's what I've come to speak to you about." Varian sighed glancing at Genn Greymane, king of the Worgen, who had once been humans but now were more akin to the werewolves of legend. Graymane shrugged.

"Then speak." The boy ordered.

"Anduin here has been badly injured and is being hunted by members of the Horde. I wish to leave him in the safety of a dragon's lair." The Horde and the Allliance had been at war for generations. The Horde consisted of Orcs and Trolls and other races considered to be more ‘savage’. The Alliance was majorly humans, elves and the worgen.

The boy scoffed. "This is not my lair. My lair is far from here." Anduin thought that this was a lie but didn’t quite know why.

"Well, I need him to be somewhere safe, where he won't be found unless I come back for him."

"Yet a simple human King has found me without trouble." The boy replied evenly.

"I have..." another glance was swapped between Genn and Varian. "Very good help."

"Clearly." The dragon huffed, sending smoke curling from under his lips. "And what would I get for doing you this favor?"

Varian straightened at that. Anduin knew Varian thought he was gaining some ground. "You would earn the favor of the Alliance. Or perhaps if you'd rather. We have up to a million gold we'd be willing to part with in exchange for his guaranteed health and safety."

The dragon's red eyes glinted greedily as he considered. "I want the Favor of the Alliance and a half of that gold." He replied after a moment's thought.

"Very well." Varian nodded.

"Are you crazy?" Genn barked beside Varian. "You're basically selling your son to a dragon!"

"I cannot risk him being killed by Garrosh. You'd do the same if it was Tess."

Genn snarled but backed away, allowing his king to do as he wished. Anduin couldn't help but look up at his father concerned. He had talked with Varian about this before and had agreed to it but now that it was actually happening, anxiety twitched in the pit of his stomach. "I agree to your terms dragon. The gold will be delivered to you in payments of 5,000 a week in exchange for a letter from Anduin, and I will check, with details about how he is holding up."

"and if this stay extends longer than that allotted time?"

"We can compensate for your time."

The dragon regarded Varian carefully. "Deal." The dragon said and his eyes gleamed almost as bright as the sun and Varian hissed and stumbled away from the threshold to the quaint tavern. Despite seeming like he was in pain Varian grinned.

"Dad?" Anduin asked from behind him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Varian smiled down at his son. "That's exactly what I hoped would happen."

"What are you on about?" Genn asked.

"A black dragon cannot go back on a promise made that way." Varian turned to Anduin, "you will be safe here."

"Promise?"

Varian set a hand on Anduin's shoulder, "I promise."

Chapter 3: Introductions

What the hells did I just agree to?? Wrathion scolded himself. Dragons were well known for their desire for large hoards and he had not realized how quickly it would come over him at the mention of a million gold. Thankfully, he had been at least coherent enough to take the favor of one of the world's major factions... but stupid enough to make it a pact. By the titans he wanted that gold. Not because he needed it but bec ause a dragon, especially a little one, would age faster in the presence of vast amounts of wealth, so it would fix a lot of his issues.

But what is done is done, and Wrathion now had to figure out what he was going to do with the lion's cub. He watched silently as the High King and his werewolf companion said goodbye to the lion cub, wishing him safety and so on. Eventually the High King urged his son to meet his host but wanted to stay behind just long enough to watch, make sure he had made the right choice.

The lion cub stood in the threshold of the inn where his father had been previously, yet he was much smaller than his father. Both in character and in body, he lacked the confidence and skill to be able to back himself up. He took one last nervous glance at Varian before he took a deep breath and faced Wrathion. "Son of Neltharion, I am honored you have agreed to help us in these trying times." The cub went to kneel before the dragon but he winced in pain and couldn't quite get one of his legs to work with him.

"Son of Neltharion..." Wrathion gave the boy a strange look, "did you know that or did you rehearse it?"

"I knew Deathwing's original name." The boy said proudly. "Many have forgotten it, but the Light has not forgotten what he once was."

"You're a priest."

"Yes." The boy winced again.

"Stop hurting yourself. Stand and tell me your name." Wrathion ordered, lounging his elbows back on the table which he had been sitting by and had turned around from to listen to Left.

The boy swallowed and stood shakily, another wince but once he got there, he was okay it seemed. "My name is Anduin Llane Wrynn." The boy said "May I ask yours?"

Wrathion tilted his head, no one had really asked him to introduce himself, many had just learned his name because of him addressing himself or whatnot. "Why do you wish to know, Anduin?"

Anduin swallowed and looked back to see what his father was thinking but the King and his werewolf, were gone. With a steadying breath, he answered, "I suspect you do not wish to live in your father's shadow. It is only polite to respect this wish as I do not wish to have my father's influence overshadow my own choices."

No wonder the kid had been hesitant to say that. Clearly the King loved his cub but then he was royalty. Anduin's path was paved largely by his father.

"My name is Wrathion, thank you, for taking into account what I wish to forget about my history." Wrathion was stunned almost out of feeling, this was a first, someone else asking him to be who he was without judgment of his father's actions. But he was grateful for this.

"Of course, Wrathion." The boy replied, he had a shaggy mane of blonde hair, bright blue eyes and wore gold and blue clothing that looked almost like armor without being armor. "What brings a mighty dragon to Pandaria?"

"I could ask you the same question," Wrathion replied.

"My father, he wishes to protect Pandaria from the savage influence of the Horde, from my understanding." Anduin explained, "your turn."

Wrathion smirked at that, "My turn? I am here to learn the secrets it has to offer. I am still young and I wish to expand my knowledge." It was not a lie per say, just part of the truth, much like Anduin’s had been.

"A noble pursuit." Anduin nodded. "If I may I would like to accompany you to some of these exploits it is my duty as the future king to know as much as I can before assuming the throne."

"Very well." Wrathion agreed. It would give him something to do with the kid. "Come and sit, let us play a game of Jihui. We have much to learn of each other."

Chapter 4: Cow Tipping and Stargazing

Anduin was nearly sixteen when the bell hit him. Everyone had thought he would never live to see through his first whole year of adulthood. Anduin, thank the Light, pulled through, and now all that there was to remind him of the incident was a birthday and bad leg that worked, to some extent, but sometimes if he tried to do more than walk with it, it wouldn't work or would be painful to work with. So taking a knee in front of the dragon as his father had instructed, had been difficult and the dragon had caught on.

"Are you alright?" Wrathion had asked when Anduin hesitantly took a seat across from him, relieved when no pain came.

"Yes, I am alright now," Anduin replied "it was an accident-" Anduin really meant attack but no need to stress the dragon out this quickly into their arrangement. "I am fully healed now, this leg just doesn't work with me sometimes."

"Your father knows about it?"

"Yes."

Wrathion nodded, his ears perked back up from where they were subtly flattened to his head, "Very well, if you need assistance with anything, let me or my guards know."

"What are their names?" Anduin asked looking at the women flanking the dragon, they were beautiful, no doubt, but they didn't really strike Anduin the way some people did.

"This is Left." Warthion signaled to the woman on his left, she was an Orcish woman with long tusks and a huge crossbow and what looked like a scimitar attached to her belt. "And this is Right." Wrathion jerked a thumb at the woman on his right, a human woman with similar gear.

"Simple enough."

"Indeed." Wrathion gave him a toothy, almost unnerving grin and thus the game of Jihui began.

Several hours of this game passed, it was quite the learning curve, and more so to try and match Wrathion move for move, but eventually, Anduin figured out some tricks to get Wrathion to feel a little too overconfident and overstep himself.

After a game, Wrathion pushed away from the table (or rather, pushed the table away from him), stretched and said: "let's go do something."

"Like...what?" Anduin replied shuffling out from under the table as well and working some cramps out of his back. He had been having fun but it was time for a break, for his... well everything's sake.

Wrathion gave him an evil smile. "We're going to go do something you've never done before." He announced proudly.

"The... future? Aren't you a Black dragon, not a Bronze?" Anduin replied sarcastically, that wasn't that specific.

Wrathion rolled his eyes, "No, somewhere in present-day I think." Wrathion looked him over a long second, "Your outfit is terrible and horribly recognizable, let's get you something... proper."

Anduin thought about being offended but then, he never much liked this outfit either and he was talking to a dragon, who were known for their fashion sense. Well, Black Dragons maybe not so much but he'd seen portraits of Ysera and Alexstraza.

Wrathion nearly seemed to fly up the stairs located in the northern corner with how fast he moved. Anduin followed at a much slower hobble, stairs had always been hard on the injury. By the time he got up to the top, he found several rooms separated by what looked like paper walls, but Anduin knew to be much stronger and more soundproof than any parchment or paper he knew of.

At the end of a hallway of about six rooms per side of the hall, a large wooden double door was open and the light was pouring out of it. Anduin approached cautiously and heard the sounds of digging, clattering and "no-no, well maybe... no actually that's horrid," from inside. Anduin poked his head through the threshold of the door and found some of the most elegant quarters he had ever seen inside. The room was bathed in light from what looked like refined lamps, but no smell of oil so Anduin didn't know what fueled the lamp. In the back middle of the room was a massive king-sized bed with a trunk in front of it, kneeling in front of it was Wrathion and a puddle of discarded clothing.

"Everything okay?" Anduin called from the door.

"Yes yes, just... come here." Anduin approached him cautiously, once he got within sight of the dragon he held up a tunic and looked between Anduin and the clothing. "Try this one." He ordered tossing the black fabric in Anduin's general direction.

"Right here?" Anduin asked, stumbling to catch the misguided tunic.

"Unless you want to pick out your chamber." Wrathion said, "but I'll likely be coming in and out anyways, I want to see how they look before I set out with you." Wrathion met his eyes for a long second unblinking. "I won't look while you change if you don't want me to."

Anduin scooted so he was solidly behind Wrathion, so the dragon would have to turn all the way around to see him before he carefully set the shirt down on a conspicuously empty table and began to pull his decorations off, golden bordered stole came first and blue shawl followed shortly thereafter. Finally, after another few moments, his shirt came off, with a final glance to make sure Wrathion wasn't looking before he did so. Tattered across Anduin’s skin was horrid scars from where the bell had smashed him, a few from where his ribs had jutted out of his chest after the initial blow and scratches from his skirmishes with the Horde as of late.

As he pulled the black fabric of the tunic over his head, he noticed that the tunic was incredibly well made and very soft, allowing Anduin to breathe and flex but not be too loose or revealing. He even suspected there was a bit of padding to serve as a small amount of amour in it. I need to find out who this guy's tailor is! He thought absently "Oh and try these!" Wrathion called tossing a heap of clothing over at him. Anduin jumped away from them as they clattered to the floor. Lifting them up he found it also had a black bead necklace, which he put on. The other cloth object was a set of linen pants but also finely made from first brush of his fingers against it.

Another look was cast at Wrathion before Anduin dared begin the process to change into these. Seeing that the dragon was still rummaging through his trunk Anduin breathed a sigh of relief, "let me know when you're ready!" Wrathion said distantly.

Anduin's suspicions about the quality of these linen pants were correct. Just like the tunic, they fit well without crushing him and still allowed him movement.

"Are we the same size?" Anduin asked, he definitely had a similar build to Wrathion but surely not a perfect match, right?

"I don’t know, these are all enchanted to fit whoever wears them." Wrathion replied, "Can I look now?"

Anduin took a second to adjust the leather belt tossed with the rest of the clothing, "yeah you're good now."

Wrathion made a show of turning around and coming up to examine Anduin. He made several hums and noncommittal sounds that worried Anduin. "Turn around," Wrathion ordered. Anduin followed instructions and waited only a minute or so more before he had his answer. "You look good in this, well no, the belt needs to change to be black and the beads...the beads can go."

Wrathion turned and went back to the trunk and began to load all the clothing back into it, but not before pulling out the belt he was thinking of and extending a hand to indicate he wanted Anduin to hand over the items he requested. Anduin obliged and took the new belt choice. Wrathion slammed the trunk closed, flicked his wrist at it and then turned to the other prince. His red eyes glinting curiously at Anduin as he examined. "Yes, that will work." He nearly purred.

Anduin noticed he had selected another outfit as well, along with some elaborate jewelry. "You don't want me wearing that, do you?"

"You aren't nearly pretty enough to pull that off." Wrathion replied flatly, "no, I'm going to be wearing that."

"Hey!" Anduin hissed.

"I said pretty, you're plenty handsome, but it requires a certain...grace," Wrathion explained, the backhanded compliment still made Anduin's cheeks flush.

"Thanks, I think," Anduin replied and then realized a much bigger issue, "you're not going to change in here... are you?"

"This is... my chambers. So yes... I am going to change in here."

"But I'm standing right here!"

"So? You can watch if you'd like," There was a strange glint in his eyes when he said it. "Or you can walk out the door to my room."

"Oh." Anduin felt sort of stupid because of the simple solution. Hobbling out as quick as he could, jumping when he saw Left and Right standing on their respective sides of the door. Anduin had not noticed them come up the stairs, hadn't even heard them when they flanked the door. "Do you guys sleep?" He asked.

"We take shifts during the night." Right answered Left looked straight ahead.

"Which one doesn't get to sleep before Wrathion wakes up?"

"The one who isn't chatty." Left replied.

"The one whose breakfast consists entirely of coffee." Right said.

"We ready to go?" Wrathion's voice said from behind Anduin, making him jump.

"Yes." Both girls said at once.

"Where are we going?" Anduin asked again.

"You'll see," Wrathion said with a small smirk.

"Better question," Anduin continued his thought as though Wrathion hadn't said anything. "We're on a mountainside surrounded in mist, how are we getting down?"

"How did you get up?" Wrathion asked a question to reply. Nudging Anduin aside so he could squeeze past.

"Horses."

"Then you will be using horses to get down."

"Don't you mean 'we'?"

"I eat horses, not ride them." The dragon said pointedly. Descending the staircase with ease and Anduin noticed his new outfit nearly sparkled, he had golden bands looped around his ears in at least three places and his outfit was indeed sleek and elegant. His hair, curly and black, was released from the white turban it had been in all day and he smelled faintly of an expensive cologne that Anduin could not quite name. "Meet me at the docks."

***

The sun had set by the time Left, Right and Anduin made it down to the docks Wrathion had mentioned (Left and Right knew it better than he) and found Wrathion sitting on a stack of crates, "you finally made it!" He flipped his hair back behind his shoulder and slipped off the crates, landing neatly beside the group. "Leave the horses here." Left and Right slid off the horses instantly. Anduin took a second longer, wondering what they were doing here of all places he had seen a pier before.

"That's our boat," Wrathion said as a ship sailed into the harbor.

It proudly bore the Alliance flag and when it docked the caller yelled "All aboard for Stormwind City!"

Anduin shot a look at Wrathion. "I've been to my capital and my home city before!"

"I understand that," Wrathion replied. "Just... trust me." The group boarded and Anduin went to tip the deckhands a couple of silver but they all diligently refused to say that their boss paid them more than enough to help them along.

"Who's your boss?" Anduin asked a man.

"Behind you." The human replied. He seemed well educated, well-fed, ring on his finger suggested married.

Anduin turned around to see Wrathion looming behind him, not overly close, just watching Anduin interact with the crewman. "How long have you been there?" Anduin hissed.

"We are both standing on the center deck. It's not exactly a good place for private conversations." Wrathion replied.

"You own these boats?"

"Yes."

"How much do you pay them?"

"A gold piece a day," Wrathion replied. "For the deckhands. The better ones get two and promotion, my captain and first mates get five."

"Wow." Anduin was a little awed. "No wonder you need that half million."

"Oh no, I have plenty of 'inheritance' from my father to afford this and my stay at the tavern for more than a hundred thousand years. I am in no hurry for that. Most of your father's gold will go to my personal hoard."

Anduin took a seat in a nearby chair. "There's a difference?"

"Savings versus Spending money," Wrathion said taking a seat across from Anduin.

"Ah." Anduin looked up and saw his home city sprawled out before him. "Woah... that was fast!"

"We don't exactly have all night now do we?" Wrathion said standing again and gesturing Anduin and the guards to follow. As Anduin passed, he saw on the bow a person in light clothing, arcane power sparkling around their finger and then fading out. A portal?

"I'm beginning to realize I've never seen a proper harbor." Wrathion mused as he gazed around the harbor, "well, not one that's not fully owned by me anyways."

Anduin was surprised by that for a moment, before realizing Wrathion probably had not.

"Well, there's quite a large one here in Stormwind, I don't know if you noticed already."

Wrathion snorted to himself, the individual snort became something more of a laugh, "I'm sorry, maybe I just don't understand human speech very well but that just sounds like a really bad innuendo. Like 'hey baby, want to see my Harbor?"

Anduin choked on a laugh, giving Wrathion an amused glare. "Please never say that again."

Wrathion waggled his eyebrows playfully in response. "What, don't you want to park your boat in my harbor?" Wrathion teased.

Anduin whacked him on the shoulder, making the dragon laugh. "Shut up before I throw you into the actual harbor." Anduin threatened, getting an amused eye-roll in response.

"Yes, fine, your majesty." Anduin huffed in annoyance, and several moments of silence passed as they walked through the bustling streets of the city, the cathedral bell tolling in the distance.

"I do have to ask," Anduin began, "What's it like to be a dragon? Is changing into a human form like a druid shapeshift?" He could not help his curiosity. It was not very often one got to speak to a dragon, let alone one that didn't seem to mind a bit of prodding.

Wrathion shrugged. "In dragon form, you feel... powerful. Even when you're extraordinarily little."

"And changing into a human?"

Wrathion let out a long, tired groan. "Fuck that."

Anduin burst into a fit of surprised laughter. "Is it really that bad?"

Wrathion had a very tired, annoyed look on his face. "It's awful. I constantly feel like I need to stretch. I keep trying to use limbs I no longer have. Do you know how awful it is to suddenly be grounded when you've been able to fly on your own your whole life?"

Anduin laughed again at the exhausted sincerity in his voice. "I don't, but that sounds pretty annoying."

"It is!"

Anduin was giggling uncontrollably under his breath. He couldn't help it, the sheer exasperation the dragon was radiating was incredibly amusing for some reason.

"Do you want to go somewhere to stretch your wings?"

Wrathion grimaced. "I'd love to, but turning into a dragon, no matter how small, is a little, awkward in populated places."

Anduin raised an eyebrow. "That's why we do it somewhere that's not the city."

Wrathion mimicked his expression, but he had a slight smirk on his face. "You trying to take me somewhere more private, Prince?"

Anduin huffed and shoved him lightly, choosing to ignore the heat that rose to his face. "Shut up! You know that's not what I mean!"

Wrathion just laughed. After that, they engaged in idle banter until Anduin had followed Wrathion through the city to the main section of the city and down the main street, which was fairly quiet now, out into Elwyn Forest past the walls of the city onto a well-used dirt road that could lead to Northshire Abbey or Goldshire depending on which turn one took during a fork in the road.

There was a soft flutter beside Anduin and when the young priest turned to look Wrathion was gone and in his place was an itty bitty little baby black and red dragon. "Aww! You're so little!" Anduin exclaimed without thinking.

The dragon rolled his bright red eyes. "That's not what your dad said last night." Wrathion huffed. Flapping his little wings with surprising power, he plopped down atop Anduin's head, "onwards noble steed! To Goldshire!' Anduin rolled his eyes but even the dragon's voice had shrunk down with him so he had an adorable scaly kitten, who without a good comeback had no issue resorting to a 'your mom' joke. Well 'your dad' in this case but still. Anduin put on a show of sighing before he obliged the tiny dragon and began to wander towards the town, said dragon delighted that his plan had been a success.

He walked in silence for a while and as the signs pointing to Goldshire became more urgent Wrathion spoke again, "alright when we get there, don't say hi or introduce yourself to anyone. You're rather recognizable as it is!" Wrathion instructed as he flapped off, transforming back into a human. "Titans, this form is restraining." He grunted, his voice a normal pitch again as he stretched his shoulders. "If anyone asks, your name is Tress and you're passing through on your way to Redridge."

"Will anybody still be out?" Anduin ran a hand through his hair to put it back in place from where the dragon had ruffled it.

"Probably not but just in case."

"Okay then, what about you?"

"I'm Derrek and I'm an old friend of yours taking you out to my farmstead in Redridge," Wrathion replied without missing a beat.

"You think about this a lot?" Anduin quieted as the village came into sight.

"I had some time while I waited for the rest of you."

"Hey, were are Left and Right anyways?" Anduin inquired, suddenly realizing that he hadn't seen either of the girls since they docked in Stormwind Harbor.

"Staying out of sight. Orcs aren't particularly welcome in Stormwind."

"Touché." Anduin nodded, scanning the tree line but saw no movement.

Thankfully, when they reached the square of the tiny town that was Goldshire it was empty, all the residents or travelers having gone to sleep for the evening. "This way!" Wrathion whispered, taking off on a side road that led to a loggers camp some miles down.

"How much farther?" Anduin asked, his leg was starting to hurt.

"Not much," Wrathion promised, straying off the path and hopping over a wooden fence.

"I... can't do that." Anduin reminded Wrathion gently.

"Sure you can. I'll help." Wrathion scoffed, "give me the bad one." Anduin did so with some hesitation, but thankfully Wrathion was gentle in his hold and helped Anduin situate so he simply slid over the fence like on would slide off a horse. "There we go! See? Nothing to worry about!" He purred. Anduin nodded, he was grateful for Wrathion at least to have planned for or worked around Anduin's injury. Together they crept into a field with easily a hundred cows scattered about, deep in sleep.

Wrathion beckoned Anduin closer as he stood beside one of the massive animals. With a suppressed grin the dragon gently pushed the cow so it rolled onto its side. The animal blinked lazily at him and accepted this new change in position, curling up and resuming its rest. "Are you serious?" Anduin hissed under his breath. "You dragged me out here to bother farm animals? What's next? Pulling cat's tails?"

"We're not hurting them!" Wrathion retorted, "just try it it'll be fun!"

"I am not going cow tipping with you!" Anduin snapped and stalked off, going around the fence and finding a grassy hill and finding a place to sit. "By the Light, this is my babysitter?" He groaned into his hands, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Okay, okay." Wrathion's voice said as something sat next to him on the grass. "This is good too." Anduin peeked out between his fingers and saw Wrathion gazing up into the star-speckled sky. "To think, my father's wings once darkened this beautiful sky, this lush world, and tried to crush all the beauty out of it... it’s a shame. He should have been the one to most appreciate all the things there are to see in this life."

Anduin lay back into the grass, following his gaze up with Wrathion's. "I hate to ask this, but are you glad he's gone?"

"Yes," Wrathion said after a moment. "But for all the horrid things he did, he was still my father."

"I understand." Anduin nodded even though Wrathion wasn't looking at him, "I mean, I hate living in my dad's shadow, but I still love him to death and well I know he loves me. I'd be devastated if he died, even if we don't always agree on a lot of things."

Wrathion's eyes slowly drifted to Anduin, "was this bargain your father struck his idea?"

"No." Anduin replied, "It was mine."

"Why sell yourself to a total stranger?"

"I..." Anduin thought for a long time, "I hated having to look over my shoulder, having my life be on the line because of Garrosh. After my injury, I knew I could not fight off Garrosh, even if there had been any chance at all it was taken from me, I can't even run from him now. My family has had a few run-ins with the Black Dragonflight, and none of them good, but I knew you weren't like them and I wanted to try again."

"Did he fight your choice?"

"Yes, for a while." Anduin toyed with the soft fabric of his new clothing, "but he came to see that it was the best option we had."

"I see," Wrathion said and the conversation fell to silence. After a while, Wrathion stood up, "Come on. Let's go home."

Chapter 5: Fire!

Wrathion helped Anduin up with no trouble before they set off for Stormwind Harbor again.

The walk was quiet for the most part until Anduin's head perked up. "Hey, do you smell smoke?"

"It's probably-" Wrathion took a big sniff of air, it did smell like smoke and he wasn't breathing smoke or fire at all. "Me..." Wrathion trailed off and with some relief shifted into his dragon form and flapped above the treeline. Stormwind slept soundly but behind him, Goldshire had a bright light of orange around it. Wrathion landed again, transforming back into a human. "Goldshire has a fire going... a big one."

Anduin's eyes went wide, "shit, Goldshire might be on fire!" He realized and took off in the way the boys had just come from, limping because of his leg.

"What if it's not on fire? Then you've strained yourself for no reason!" Wrathion growled catching up in a single bound.

"That is a sacrifice I am willing to make to ensure the safety of my people." Anduin spat back. "If you're not with me I'll meet you at the boat if you are with me shut up and do something!"

Wrathion stared blankly at Anduin for what felt like an hour but was only a few seconds. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

"You're a dragon, you should know how best to combat fire!"

"But I don't!" Wrathion complained.

"Than go get people out! You're faster than me!" Anduin's blue eyes shimmered harshly. Wrathion nodded numbly and took off in the direction of Goldshire. Left, Right I need someone to watch Anduin! He thought, touching an emerald on one of his rings.

Understood. Left replied.

Wrathion arrived in a horrible scene. The entire village of Goldshire was engulfed in flame, people were running everywhere, screaming, crying and among the chaos was...orcs

Left stay hidden, they won't differentiate between you and the enemy.

"Come out come out little prince..." One snarled in the guttural language that was Orcish. With a growl, Wrathion lept into the inn, hoping he had avoided detection. He touched the emerald again, They're after Anduin! Watch out for an ambush! Wrathion pushed off the crumbling wall and raced out of the inn, now that he had sent his message. It wasn't these people's fault the orcs were after Anduin and the attack pissed Wrathion off. They were hardly better than Wrathion’s father!

With a roar, Wrathion leaped on one of the Orcs and tore at him with sharp claws and teeth. Despite blood springing to the wounds it wasn't as effective as any of his draconic abilities might be, but his dragon form was just a bit too small to be useful in combat yet. He inhaled deeply as he saw a second orc approaching. With a snarl, he pushed off the first and as the orc stumbled to its feet in front of its friend, Wrathion unleashed his fire breath on both opponents.

While still recovering his breath Wrathion looked around. There were more orcs, no surprise but then he realized he had backed himself against the forge and two more were much too close for any of the athletic trickery he had been using. Wrathion snarled bravely at the swords that were pointed at him, he would breathe again but that wasn't something he could do twice in a row and remain standing. Plus it didn't help the burning village situation. A flash of light blinded the dragon for a second but then it faded and in its wake, Wrathion saw Anduin, light flaring in his palm and snarl bared.

"You alright?" Anduin asked keeping an eye out for more threats.

"Yes, thanks to you." Wrathion replied.

"Go get people out of these buildings! I'll deal with the orcs!" A crossbow bolt shot dangerously close to both of the boys but flew past and slammed into the skull of another orc. Both turning to see the source of this shot. Left appeared out of the shadows just long enough to take the shot before vanishing among them again. With a slight nod in her direction, Wrathion darted over to the inn once more. Wrathion didn't mind the smoke and fire that had begun to devour the building if anything he was rather comfortable in it, but he knew humans were rather... flammable. He finally caught his breath searched the basement first, the chef and innkeeper huddled behind a barrel of mead.

"Let's get you out of here friends!" Wrathion said as soon as he got far enough down the stairs to see the pair.

"The guests!" The Innkeep choked out, he had inhaled a lot of the smoke it seemed. "Some are still up there!"

Wrathion narrowed his eyes. "You," He turned to the chef, "get you both out." He gazed back at the Innkeep, "I'll get them if I can alright?" The Innkeep nodded slowly as the chef helped him to his feet. "Find the man with blonde hair outside, he'll help you."

With that, the dragon zipped back up the basement stairs and rounded the corner and leaped over the banister to get to the upstairs. A part of the roof collapsed in front of the dragon, who flung himself backward to get out of the way and nearly stumbled back down a step or two. A fire couldn't hurt the dragon but a falling log sure could.

With a huge inhale the dragon breathed in the flame, held it for a second and then let it out as a small breath before he surged over the log and finished his ascent to the upper level. One of the two rooms was blocked off by smoldering wood pieces. The other was still mostly intact. A glance over the easily accessible room revealed nothing but he felt a tugging at his pant leg. A little girl gripped him desperately. "It's okay. I'll help you out." Wrathion promised the tiny human. She nodded and carefully came out of hiding. "Where are your parents?"

"I..I don't know." The little girl whimpered.

"Alright, I'll keep looking, but let's get you out." Wrathion slowed his pace painfully to guide the little girl to the door and directing her to Anduin before he flew up the stairs again. Inhaling the flames again he began to claw at the rubble blocking the other door. He loosened the rocks as best as he could, soon he felt another set of hands working the wood. A glance over revealed Anduin kneeling beside him helping Wrathion clear some of the smaller rubble pieces so the stronger dragon could dislodge the bigger pieces. Around Anduin was a light glow of a protective bubble that Wrathion assumed was to protect the boy from the smoke. Soon the pair broke through and in the room was a small family. Father, mother, and a little boy. "Are you alright?" Both boys asked.

The little boy coughed and the parents looked frightened, having been carefully navigating the crumbling floor. "Where's Heather?" The father asked

"Outside." Anduin replied, "we'll help you out."

The family carefully gathered themselves and lead the way out with Anduin and Wrathion in tow. "How'd it go with the orcs?" Wrathion asked quietly.

"We were able to drive them off."

"We?"

"Well besides Left and Right and anything you may think about humans, many humans do not like seeing their homes invaded and will fight to defend it."

"Understood."

"Any casualties on this side?" Anduin asked, glancing into the other room hesitantly. Looking relieved when he saw nothing.

"Lots of inhaled smoke but nothing a priest can't reverse I don't think."

"Thank the Light." Anduin's shoulders drooped. He suddenly looked exhausted. "Let's go home."

Wrathion couldn't agree more.

Chapter 6: Brave Face

Anduin and Wrathion had come to the agreement on the way home that Wrathion's room was only about half full and could hold another person if they were comfortable with one another, and they had decided they were, so Anduin had moved all the stuff the pack mule he had been left with to the large room at the end of the upstairs hall. The furnishings would not change, as Anduin hadn't brought any save a chest of personal belongings, so Anduin got the wardrobe against the eastern wall of the suddenly giant room.

The north wall was where the beds rested. Wrathions was about a nightstand's length away from the western wall and Anduin tucked his bed, which he had borrowed from an unoccupied room, all the way in the Northeastern corner. Against the foot of Wrathion's bed was his trunk of clothing and on the southern wall was the conspicuously empty table which had two chairs sitting at it. At the foot on Anduin's bed was a similar chest but it contained all manner of study materials and things to do, books to read and wooden weapons to spar with. After moving in Anduin had decided to take a bath in the hot pool just under the back balcony of the inn. The same back balcony that was connected to Wrathion and Anduin's room, it had a rocking chair on it and it was a well-loved rocking chair at that. Aside from that, he was ecstatic to be able to bathe after a long day of smoke and fire.

Anduin hadn't seen much of Wrathion since he had started moving in his stuff, save Wrathion taking long enough to clean out the wardrobe so Anduin could use it. Anduin hadn't really been worried about it until he got out to the hot pool, set his towel on a rock, stripped out of the odd clothes and slithered into the water and leaned back on the staircase leading down into the water. The warmth felt nice on his leg, well it felt nice, everywhere to be quite frank. Relaxed, Anduin began to sing a little tune,

"It's not fair to be alo--ah!" He nearly jumped out of the water when he realized the bright red light he had passed over without noticing were eyes, not lights. "How long have you been watching me?" He demanded from the dragon, who looked a little bit too smug that he had caught Anduin singing. Anduin's cheeks flushed a little, and then a lot when he realized that he was equally as exposed as Wrathion was, nothing but water obscuring visions of things Anduin did not want to see and did not want to be seen. Don't be stupid he probably doesn't even have anything because this human form is just a disguise. Wrathion purred softly, "Not long." he said, "though you haven't been here very long either so I suppose my point is invalid." His black curls even longer as he brushed them out with a wooden comb. "Don't worry I was just getting out when you walked out here so I decided to wait."

"To watch me?" Anduin narrowed his eyes.

"No so I wouldn't be streaking in front of you." Wrathion rolled his bright red eyes. well maybe he does have- Anduin shook his head to clear that thought before he finished it.

"Just go, I'll close my eyes."

"No need," Wrathion said shifting into a dragon and fluttering away behind a rock opposite Anduin's, which was a little more than hip height so Wrathion changed back, dried himself off, grabbed his discarded clothing and fluttered away to the balcony.

Anduin sighed and finished bathing quickly, he heard howls up in the mountains and it reminded him too much of the orcs who had attacked Goldshire. Where they part of the Horde?

Anduin didn't know but didn't think his father would be pleased either way. He heaved himself out of the warm water, tying his towel around his waist and grabbed his clothes before heading upstairs. Right stood from the table Wrathion had been sitting at when Varian had approached and followed the boy up but stopped at the door threshold while Anduin continued past the threshold. Anduin did not see Wrathion and took the opportunity to dress in his nightclothes and then took a step out onto the cool balcony. Wrathion gently rocked in his chair and seemed to be reading. Wrathion was in fuzzy night clothes and seemed to be at peace with his surroundings, his book open in his lap and him focusing intently on it instead of glancing around like he was being watched like he normally did. "Wrathion?" Anduin whispered gently. The dragon looked up at him sleepily. "Let's come in for the night. It's cold out here."

"Alright." Wrathion agreed without the reluctance Anduin had expected. He stood and followed Anduin back into the tavern. Anduin plopped down on his bed, happy to feel something soft underneath him for the first time all day. While Wrathion slipped under his covers more methodically.

Anduin had expected them to go to sleep not long after that, but they ended up talking for many many hours despite the madness of the day.

"Did you see that Night Elf girl?" Anduin asked excitedly.

"No." Wrathion replied calmly.

"Oh come on you can't tell me she wasn't the prettiest thing you've ever seen!"

"She wasn't."

"So you admit you saw her?!"

"Yes, but I didn't notice her. It takes a lot to get a dragon to notice someone in that way."

"Well I noticed her!" Anduin retorted.

"I think you noticed the curves of a tree you lonely priest." Wrathion teased, his voice held no malice and honestly Anduin had seen him eyeing up some people too, though he'd deny it Anduin was sure.

"Would you two shut up and go to sleep?" Right snapped poking her head in the room.

"Sorry!" Anduin squeaked. Shifting so he lay down and closed his eyes to sleep.

Something was making one side of his pillow heavier than the other. Anduin tried to shove it off but to no avail. Blinking open his eyes he saw... a dragon whelp. He nearly jumped out of his skin. "Light! What are you doing over here?" He hissed.

"I..." the dragon looked embarrassed. "I don't know. You just seemed... cold. You were shivering." Wrathion explained in the softest voice he could.

The dragon was admittedly warm. Anduin was about to send the dragon away anyways when he realized something. He has no friends or family... he must be so lonely. Poor guy, being so brave around everyone and just taking everyone's doubts and expectations to become his father but... he has nothing for himself. I think we have more common ground than either of us assumed. "No, it's okay," Anduin said catching the dragon and settling him on the sheets. Looks like we both need each other. Thank you Light, for bringing me to a place I can finally help someone else.

Chapter 7: Accord

Wrathion woke up later than Anduin, he knew it the second he regained consciousness. The bed next to him was cold, save the heat emanating from his breath. He shifted into his human form and stretching before sliding off the bed.

Something about him felt... off, not wrong per se just, strange. A quick reworking of his disguise revealed nothing, save maybe his facial hair becoming a slight bit more prominent than before. Then there must be something wrong with me instead he noted. With a small sigh of anxiety, he shifted back into his true form.

Suddenly the space between him, the bed, the trunk, and the dresser was much too small and getting smaller. With a startled snarl Wrathion shifted back and scooted away from anything nearby. Proportions were normal again. What is happening to me? He hissed to himself and tried again. This time the world got smaller but he didn't hit anything right off. He examined himself after taking a second to realize he wasn't hovering in the air like he normally did. Instead his front paws and back were both strong enough and long enough to touch the ground at the same time and balance him. He wondered briefly if dragons had a puberty stage of their adolescence but pushed the thought aside as curiosity overtook anything else. He reached up a forepaw and went to touch his head and promptly prodded himself with sharp horns. Setting the paw down, not minding the sting of being jabbed, he stretched his wings. As he did so he got a satisfactory little woosh of air beneath their power and size. Though he did quickly realize as he spread his wings to their capacity that he was knocking books off their shelves and pushing aside furniture.

One last thing he could test here in the tavern. He took a deep breath in and roared with all his strength. The noise echoed through the nearby mountains and shook the building with its power. He felt rather smug and then quickly realized that the fact the tavern floor was holding up a dragon, albeit the size of a Polar Bear, up without complaint. He did admire how large he had gotten, from the size of a kitten to the size of a bear was a massive change to happen overnight. Much less all the other stuff.

Wrathion was finally a drake!

A head popped around the corner, blue eyes peered into the bedroom, "Wrathion?" Anduin asked, "the staff are worried about you."

"Yeah, it's me." He purred taking a seat, his head nearly touching the roof. Even his voice held exponentially more power than it had before. "Everything's fine."

"Wow!" Anduin smiled at him, "You're way bigger now than when I got up this morning!"

Wrathion cocked his head at him, "How big was I?"

"Maybe the size of a komodo dragon, " Anduin replied, measuring with his hands as he made his way over to his friend. He reached out to touch the obsidian colored scales but quickly restrained himself. "Sorry-uh may I? I've never actually felt a dragon's scale before."

Wrathion did the dragon equivalent of a shrug. "Sure." Anduin made a pleased noise and very gently reached out and set a hand of the dragon's flank. The contact surprised Wrathion, it was warm and soft and incredibly... exciting for lack of a better word. Anduin stroked Wrathion's side like one would pet a cat and to some degree, Wrathion was annoyed at the gentleness Anduin showed him but a much larger part of him wanted him to keep doing so forever, each touch sending more and more shocks to the excitement pooling in his chest. Wrathion felt something twitch in his belly and shook Anduin off, "That's enough." He tried to say gently despite the rising panic. Anduin, clearly without thinking glanced down to the dragon's underbelly and, seeming to regret his decision quickly looked back up at Wrathion's face instead. Before he could process what Anduin had seen a cold thought washed over him. "Shit. I'm late for the Accord." He snarled.

"The what?" Anduin asked seeming relieved at the change in subjects.

"The Accord, listen we have to go but basically it's an annual meeting between all the Dragon Aspects." Wrathion considered for a moment, "and I don't have time to horse you all the way down to the pier."

Anduin flushed a deep red color suddenly. "Well, maybe you're big enough now that I can... ride on your back?"

Wrathion caught the possible innuendo but had no time to respond to it. "Yes yes fine." He growled and crouched down so Anduin could carefully wriggle himself up onto the curve of Wrathion's back. He seemed almost giddy with getting to ride a dragon. This slightly annoyed Wrathion, he was not some mount to be collected in some adventure's journal. He didn't think that's what Anduin planned to do and again had no time to consider it.

"Are you two okay?" Right asked poking her head into the doorframe.

"Yeah, we're going to the Accord," Wrathion replied.

"We'll meet you there."

"Thanks!" Wrathion nodded approval and began to plod out onto the balcony. Anduin ducked to avoid hitting the doorframe as Wrathion squeezed through it with only some amount of trouble. With a sharp breath, Wrathion leaped off the banister, spread his wings and flew he soared into the sky with a few powerful beats of his wings. Anduin squeaked as Wrathion leaped and tried to do a little trick, but was still trying to figure out his body first. After his liftoff, Wrathion did his best to simply glide down the mountainside but would keep some distance between his underbelly and the treeline below.

"Woo!" Anduin cheered from atop him, Wrathion roared in agreement and together they went soaring down the mountain shouting and roaring all the way.

The landing was the hardest part. Wrathion tried his best to be gentle as he touched down, so as not to jostle Anduin off over his head if he could manage.

Unfortunately Anduin did get knocked off and was sent flying. Fortunately grabbing onto something as he went. Unfortunately, it was Wrathion's neck. Wrathion stumbled but was able to right himself before falling over completely. "Sorry!" He called back at the boy clinging onto him for dear life.

"Scared the Light out of me dude!" Anduin growled as he regained his balance. Wrathion shifted back into a human, which suddenly felt oddly comfortable. There was an awkward pause before Anduin let go of Wrathion and went over to take a seat on the grass. "Next time. We're going to need a saddle."

"Next time?" Wrathion replied. "Is there going to be a next time?"

Anduin smiled broadly at him then, which caught Wrathion by surprise, "that was the most fun I've had since like forever ago!" Anduin looked... very small then, like an 8-year-old child rather than a grown man to become king one day. It tugged at something inside Wrathion that he couldn't quite name.

It was probably nothing. Wrathion decided, he was just hormonal.

"Wrathion?" Anduin's voice brought Wrathion back to the now.

"Sorry what were you saying?" Wrathion asked meeting gentle blue eyes.

"I was asking if it would be okay if we did some more practice with the flight." Anduin said patiently.

"Yes that'd be fine." Wrathion said, voice cracking as he fought off a surge of emotion that swelled up inside him. He offered a hand to Anduin to help him up. Anduin took it and heaved himself up, their fingers staying within brushing distance for a few seconds too long and even when they separated they walked much closer together than they had previously. Anduin following Wrathion closely as the latter stepped onto the boat to Northrend.

The temperature dropped significantly after that. Wrathion looked up and knew he was in Dragonblight. The graveyard of dragons including the father of dragons, Galakrond.

Chapter 8: Wrymrest

Anduin had visited Northrend on a number of occasions. He had never liked it much. Not for any reason other than he hated the cold, especially since he was more used to more temperate conditions. Wrathion seemed to have no such reservations as he stepped off the boat and on to the dock, easing his way to actual land before he transformed into a dragon again, crouching so again Anduin could clamor up onto the dragon.

Anduin squawked as Wrathion took off. He wasn't so concerned with the idea of flying, he had ridden griffins before, it was the fact that Wrathion had a greater than human intelligence and as a result was not as conscientious of his flight posture and might not fully understand that dropping Anduin from this heigh, while maybe an entertaining prank among dragons would be a death sentence to Anduin.

Despite his concerns, the pair arrived without incident. Though Anduin did come out of his thoughts as the ground got closer. "Try landing on all four feet when you land," Anduin suggested, might as well try it, see if it worked.

Wrathion didn't reply and Anduin began to worry the dragon hadn't heard or was offended at the comment but Wrathion did as he was asked and they landed with a gentle thump. Anduin still got knocked into the air a few inches because of gravity's effect on him.

Sliding down off the back of Wrathion, Anduin looked up and found that he was the closest to Wyrmrest Temple than he had ever been.

The tower loomed over him into the icy sky. The building, from Anduin's understanding, had four levels. The topmost level served as the roof and was where the battle with Deathwing and Ultraxion, Deathwing's experiment that had gone right, had taken place. Above the bones of Galakrond, Deathwing had taken a mighty blow thanks to the orc shaman Thrall, who had wielded the artifact/weapon the Dragon Soul. The Dragon Soul had been a powerful artifact created by the Dragon Aspects and had, ironically, been the idea of Neltharion. The weapon later disassembled Deathwing into nothing but atoms.

That battle had stretched as far as the Malestrom in the middle of the sea separating Kalimdor and The Eastern Kingdoms but it had begun here at Wrymrest Temple.

The next floor down was where the commander of the Wyrmrest defenders, Lord Afrasastrasz, resided, it also served as a war room if the need arose.

The level under that was the common sector, generally, this was as much of Wyrmrest Temple that mortals got to lay eyes on. Though that was no to downplay its beauty in and of itself.

The bottom floor, half-buried beneath the ice, was the room that severed as the portal room for the dragons. All five Dragonflights had a Portal to their respective realms. And the realms, as far as Anduin knew never having been through any of the portals, were as follows: The Black Dragonflight's realm was in the heart of an active volcano, though it lay abandoned now that the Black Dragonflight had all but been wiped out, with its last remaining member staying in Pandaria for the time being.

The Red Dragonflight got a cherry tree grove that had once been ransacked by Deathwing's forces but had since recovered splendidly.

The Green Dragonflight got the Emerald Dream. The realm where all dreams, wishes, and hopes, were real, but also so were all the nightmares and fear, the Green Dragons spent their time trying to control the balance between the two. It is said that once one falls asleep the mind wanders the Emerald Dream until one wakes.

The Blue Dragonflight resided in the Realm known as the Eye of Eternity, which was the home of magic in its purest form. After the Nexus War most if the Blue Dragonflight went extinct, but those that remained studied there.

Last but not least was the Bronze Dragonflight's home in the Caverns of Time, which were located on the continent of Kalimdor. The Caverns of Time were where the Bronze Dragonflight guarded the time ways dutifully and protected all that had happened, no matter how bad, for it all served a greater purpose.

This chamber also apparently served as the council room for the Aspects since Wrathion plodded off down the icy chasm floor into the room. The room was circular in shape and on the edges of the room were the portals. More to the center of the room were five large circular platforms surrounding a collum if starlight, not harsh enough to be blinding but enough to illuminate the dragons placed on all the platforms but one. The second the boys entered, all eyes fell onto Wrathion. Anduin just happened to be in the perfect spot to notice the nervous tail-flick Wrathion gave before stepping up onto the vacant platform that was part of the circle of other Dragonflights.

Across from Wrathion, was Kalecgos, the Spell Weaver, Anduin had met him before but only in his human form. As a half-elf, Kalec had blue hair and eyes and spoke elegantly but now as a dragon at least ten times larger than Wrathion, he looked much more imposing. His horns alone were the size of three Anduin's, the latter feeling rather small in comparison suddenly, at only five and a half feet tall.

Next to Kalecgos was the Green Dragon Ysera, the Dreamer, she was about a head taller than Kalcegos and floating between her horns was upside down golden crescent with divets gave it a glaive like appearance.

Next to her was a crimson dragon about a Ysera and a half tall, her horns and claws heavily adorned in jewels and other decorations. Alexstraza the Life-Binder in the flesh.

Closest to Wrathion was a Ysera sized Bronze Dragon, Nozdormu the Infinite, sometimes called Nozdormu the Timeless stood proud beside his decorated companions.

Besides each Aspect were two smaller dragons, one on either side of the same color of their respective Aspect. Except Wrathion. Wrathion's only companion was a human.

"What doesss a mortal want with the affairssss of dragonss?" Nozdormu asked, golden eyes glinting as he recognized the human taking a spot besides Wrathion's flank.

"Wrathion!" Alexstraza thundered, "You show up late and you bring a mortal with you?" She hissed.

"Mighty Dragon Aspects," Anduin bowed as deep as he could without aggravating his leg, and to hide his body trembling, "I meant no disrespect by my presence." He explained smoothly.

"This one's father and I arranged an agreement that requires him to remain by my side at all times." Wrathion explained, "I am to protect the Prince of Humans."

Alexstraza blinked at him a few times. "But you still brought a mortal-"

"Let the mortal thing go." Kalecgos snarled, "he already explained why the mortal is here."

Alexstraza glared at Kalecgos. "Very well." She hissed reluctantly. "Nozdormu, who is to speak first today?"

Nozdormu tilted his head. "Wrathion speaksss firssst. Kalecgossss next year."

Wrathion with a small intake of breath looked up at the other dragons in attendance. "Now that the rest of the Corrupted Black Dragonflight has been eradicated, I wish to take my place as the Black Aspect." He said his voice strained but not out of anxiety like his tail swishes were.

Alexstraza laughed, "You will not hold that title if I have any say in it." She snarled. Wrathion Wrathion away violently. Even his cool expression could not hide the hurt from the verbal blow.

"Sister," Ysera snapped from besides Alexstraza. "This is not Deathwing."

"So what? His child is nearly as bad!"

"Alexstraza," Kalecgos began, "You have to let this go, Wrathion is not to be blamed for his father's sins."

"You want me to let go of the rape, torture and murder of my children?" Alexstraza howled in rage and fury, eyes lighting on fire and turned of the Spell Weaver.

Kalecgos was unfazed. "Of course not." As he said that, something occurred to Anduin, the first being they were speaking Common instead of Draconic, why include the human in on the conversation? The second thing Anduin noticed was that while Alexstraza may be the Queen of Dragons her Aspect companions had no problem voicing their opinions around her.

"If I may," Anduin couldn't help but pipe up, standing as tall as he could, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. He had just interrupted borderline gods. All eyes turned to him. As much as Kalecgos was sticking up for Wrathion, Anduin hated to see the dragons fight. "Yesterday, a fire broke out in a town we were visiting. While Wrathion could not be hurt by the fire he went to great lengths to ensure the safety of everyone affected. I believe that given the proper guidance and mentorships from great beings such as yourself and being taught that he is better than his father, he will shape up the way you wish him to, rather than the way you fear he will."

Alexstraza leaned so she met Anduin at eye level. All the malice and fear in her gaze was gone. "Will you vouch for the drake in question?" She asked gently.

Anduin reached up and set a hand on her snout. "Absolutely, we all can help guide him. Azeroth needs a Earth Warder and Wrathion is a solid choice."

"Prove that Rheastrasza's sacrifices were not in vain." Kalecgos spoke.

Alexstraza looked between her friends. She turned to Nozdormu, "what about you?"

"I had to forgive myssself for a future of my fall to the madness that will never come to be. Thisss one deserves the sssame forgivenesssss."

Alexstraza nodded. "Very well, Wrathion, step forward."

Wrathion, clearly hiding his excitement behind cool red eyes, stepped onto a central ring filled with sparkling stars. "Although we may not be the Titans, we have the power to proclaim a new Aspect in the event that one falls. I, Alexstraza will see to it that this Drake becomes everything that his father chose not to be. Kalecgos, present your gifts."

Anduin had the cold realization that he was about to witness the ascension of a God yet something kept him from moving at all so as to give the gods some privacy. Yet it felt like he glued to the floor

Kalecgos stepped into the circle with Wrathion. "We have no ability to grant you the power we were disrupted by the titans, not alone but together we all may impart our wisdom and wishes onto you, granting you the power you will need to lead what is left of your kin," Kalecgos said. "My gift, as the youngest Aspect prior to you, is perseverance, strength, and wisdom. May it guide you during the seasons ahead." The dragons, with Kalecgos having to crouch almost to reach butted heads affectionately. Both muttering small words inaudible and in Draconic before Kalecgos stepped away.

Ysera came next; "before we became the Aspects, Alexstraza, Nozdormu, Neltharion, Malygos and myself all had to face trials. But never did we face them alone. My gifts to you are friendship, love, and hope. May you surround yourself in friends and family who care about you as deeply as you care about them." Again soft words and a headbutt was exchanged before Ysera stepped back.

Anduin suddenly noticed Ysera didn't need to crouch as much to reach Wrathion's level. He had about doubled in size since his exchange with Kalecgos.

Anduin watched as he grew in size again before Nozdormu stepped forward. "In my own time, I have sssseen timelines where the world was destroyed and rebuilt many times. With my gift I give you patience, judgment and justice. Sssome times it takes patience to see the correct course of action. Yet sssome ssssituations require immediate action. It is up to you to decide what to do and when to do it."

Nozdormu had to crouch down the least so far. They were also close enough now that Anduin could make out what they were saying. He understood some basic Draconic as part of the princely work he had studied many languages, Draconic being one. "May the future bring you fortune." Nozdormu purred.

"And you, brother." Wrathion replied. Anduin suspected the other exchanges had been similar.

Alexstraza stepped forward. "I'll admit I have my concerns, and yet, so did the titans when appointing us as Aspects. With my gift, I bestow to you Clarity, Loyalty, and the love of a mother. May you always think of the struggles of another before yourself and feel the wrath of a mother directed at those who threaten the ones you hold close." Alexstraza had to lean down more than the others only because of her size compared to Wrathion, not because he stopped growing.

Alexstraza, to Anduin's shock and awe, turned to Anduin, "The one who vouches for new Aspect may provide a gift if you wish."

"If not, he isss a fully functional Assspect now. You will not harm him by refusing." Nozdormu added.

"I think I can do something." Anduin said taking Alexstraza's place. "With my gifts, I wish to bestow you with Curiosity, Mercy and Trust. May you forever know that your friends are true to you and share your excitement for life's new adventures." Wrathion smiled and bowed his head to meet Anduins outstretched hand.

"Thank you." Wrathion whispered in Common.

"I am just happy I can give something valuable."

"You have given more than enough."

"Wrathion!" Alexstraza announced from her pedestal, "henceforth you shall be known as Wrathion the Earth Warder. May you always respect Azeroth for all the beauties it has to offer." She smiled at him, "welcome to the Aspects."

Chapter 9: Ascension

"Welcome to the Aspects." Alexstraza purred. Before Wrathion could respond, Wrathion's vision went black.

"Anduin." The white-and-gray wolfman that had accompanied King Wrynn to the Tavern in the Mists addressed a slightly older Anduin, just a handful of years from his present form. "We need to talk."

"Sure Genn. What is it you need?" Anduin looked up from where he had been studying a map of an unknown region intently. The white brick walls decorated with blue implied the exchange was taking place in Stormwind Keep. "What happened at Broken Shore?" The prince continued.

"We were decimated." Genn snarled, "our losses were monstrous."

"That... is not what we anticipated. Heavy resistance I take it?" Anduin tilted his head in concern. "Where is my father?"

"I... that's what I needed to discuss with you." Genn swallowed and glanced around as if looking for someone else to take this responsibility from him. "King Varian Wrynn... is dead."

Anduin stared blankly at Greymane, his jaw tightening. "Excuse me?" His eyes narrowed and his voice was dangerously quiet.

"He died to protect what was left of the attack force. I only survived because of his sacrifice." Graymane continued.

Anduin looked at the floor. "There was only supposed to be limited casualties, that's what Wrathion promised us."

"Well, maybe Wrathion was wrong!" Genn snapped, deep blue eyes flaring in anger. He took a moment to collect himself, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted, I know you deeply respect the Black dragon but he was wrong about this and our army was destroyed because of him."

Anduin hissed his face contorted as he tried to control his emotions. "This is the legion's fault, not Wrathion's!" He shouted back.

"He abandoned you Anduin, whatever thing you had with him is over now!" Genn was clearly not fond of Wrathion and Wrathion supposed that was fair, but he had no intention of leading Varian into a trap. He had no quarrel with the human king and even less so with Anduin.

Anduin sighed heavily and hid his face behind his hands. "Leave me now Graymane, we'll worry about coronation some other time."

Genn went quiet then. Setting a hand on Anduin's shoulder. "I am sorry." He murmured. "I lost someone close to me too today."

"This is hard for everyone but I need to process." Genn hesitated for a second too long, causing Anduin's patience to thin. "Leave!" He demanded. Genn's ears flattened and he backed away and closed to door.

Now alone Anduin let out a sob.

Wrathion was jerked back into reality nearly violently. He felt that he was in human form, and laying on the floor of Wyrmrest temple he supposed. He felt a gentle soft pulsing beside him and cracked open an eye to look around.

Anduin crouched beside him, light dancing around his palm, causing the warm pulsing through his body. He looked gravely concerned. Wrathion, remembering his vision flinched away. "I'm sorry." He mumbled even though nothing had happened since his vision had begun. The other Aspects watched him calmly. "He wakes mortal," Nozdormu said somewhere to Wrathion's side. Anduin, reluctantly, stood and backed away.

"The ascension to an Aspect triggers powerful visions for the new Aspect, it helps guide them where nothing else could," Alexstraza explained. "His vision was deeply emotional it seems."

"What makes you say that?" Wrathion hissed from the floor as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Wrathion! You're okay!" Anduin cheered and threw his arms around Wrathion's neck. "I was so worried I had hurt you by accident." He breathed so only Wrathion could hear his confession. Wrathion flushed a little, butterflies erupting in his belly from the simple act of being this close to Anduin. To feel his cold arms against the skin of Wrathion's neck. He nuzzled warmly into Anduin, grateful that his vision could still be prevented.

"I'm sorry," Wrathion said again. His gut-wrenching with the pain of knowing he had caused Anduin so much distress. Even if it was far in the future. "I'm so sorry."

Anduin chuckled, much to Wrathion's surprise, "So long as you're okay, no hard feelings!" He said with such a childlike excitement Wrathion couldn't help but smile back at the young human. He felt better the butterflies still gnawing at his stomach but the dread seemed to evaporate. Wrathion wanted to lean in and... he wasn't really sure what, he had no words for it. Dragons rarely expressed affections through words or small actions. Between dragons, such emotions were usually communicated through pheromones or large deeds and favors.

Anduin seemed to understand though, "Later." He promised, "when we don't have gods staring at us." Wrathion grinned at him, something about Anduin's acknowledgment of Wrathion's feelings and requited them was a pleasant comfort. One that warmed his whole chest and fuzzed away his thoughts, and the sting of the vision.

Once Wrathion took his place again, the meeting continued and while Wrathion stopped paying attention to the others at some point, he got a chance to plan what he would do now that he was and Aspect.

Well, for one thing, he was going to pick out a lair for himself and connect the Wyrmrest portal to it. That would be way better than living inside a volcano, he hated that place. After that, he wasn't really sure. He hadn't thought Alexstraza would say yes to his proposal in the first place so he hadn't gotten his hopes up. Maybe he would check in with Magni.

Magni was the literal champion of Azeroth, he had been a dwarf named Magni Bronzebeard before he had become made of diamond to protect all of the world for the rest of eternity. As Earth Warder Wrathion and Magni needed to get along at least well enough to get their jobs done.

The meeting ended before he could plot anything else. He went to walk out and let Anduin climb on outside but Kalecgos beat him and padded beside him. "Wrathion? May I have a moment?" The Spell Weaver asked.

"After everything you've done for me today, you may have as many as you need," Wrathion replied, stopping to speak with the Blue dragon. Anduin paused beside Wrathion and waited patiently.

"Forgive me for the intrusion," Kalecgos began. "I have been studying the growth cycles of dragons, more specifically, black dragons and I noticed you seemed... uncomfortable in your own scales. This leads me to believe that you have developed significantly since we last met in a very short amount of time."

"Okay..." Wrathion tilted his head at Kalecgos.

"I believe that because of how large Deathwing got, both physically and how far spread his name was, dragons grow based on what feelings they stir inside the hearts of others."

"What do you mean?" Wrathion blinked slowly at the older dragon.

"I mean, that because everyone ever feared Deathwing, he became massive as he fed off of that. However, the rest of us Aspects are not as widely known by the mortal population and a majority of our body size is because of our respect for each other. Recently, you came in contact with a group of humans that feel very strongly about you, and then you received the respect of the other Aspects making you multiply in size today."

Wrathion nodded, "Makes more sense than the gold theory anyways." Wrathion replied, "why are you telling me this?"

"Well, as with mortals going through adolescence, it helps to know why your body is reacting the way it is."

"Are you telling me I hit puberty?" Wrathion half-joked. Kalecgos seriously could not be implying that, right?

"Well you are grown it's more of a physical change than a psychological one," Kalecgos replied with a shrug of sorts. "But that's all I wanted to speak with you about. Congratulations on your accession!"

Wrathion stared after the Blue with a mix of shock and irritation. Weird thing to tell a new aspect. Especially since he was larger the Spell Weaver now, if only just. "Well... that's awkward." Anduin spoke from besides Wrathion.

"Seriously." Wrathion agreed. "Weird dude."

"I think he's trying to be nice but isn't sure what to do with you," Anduin replied, climbing on as Wrathion crouched. "Onwards, noble steed! To the Tavern!" Anduin echoed Wrathion's statement from before. Wrathion rolled his eyes but with a powerful beat of his wings he was airborne and taking off towards home.

Chapter 10: Confession

The rest of the evening for Anduin had gone by peacefully. He had spent most of it reading his tome of holy studies on Wrathion's fluffy reading chair on the balcony. A thick leather-bound book full of spells for Anduin to learn and to start practicing lay in his lap. Little did the instructor who assigned him the work know, Anduin had already mastered most of the techniques enclosed within. The art of using the Light had always come easily to the young human. Nonetheless, Anduin had dutifully spent a few hours studying.

Wrathion, on the other hand, looked borderline distressed all evening. Pacing between the same three rooms for at least an hour. Leaning on the banister and staring out into the sunset for less than thirty seconds before he was pacing again. At first, Anduin had taken it for residual excitement from the ceremony earlier that morning but the sun had long since set and Anduin had taken his studying into the room for the night, Wrathion was still wearing footprints into the wooden floor. Spending as much time as he could in human form Anduin had noticed.

Anduin tried to stay diligent in his study but now that he rested propped up on an elbow under the warm covers of his bed Wrathion was much more in view and Anduin couldn't help but watch how the dragon moved. His hair was all over the place thanks to how many times Wrathion had run his hand through the black curls. His red eyes were nearly dull with how much raw emotion he had endured during the day. Anduin understood. More than Wrathion could ever know. Anduin had always had a knack for understanding the struggles of others. Depending on how strong the emotions were Anduin could focus on that person's words or actions and feel as though he was walking beside them through their emotional journey. A bonus for his priestly duties but not required, and sometimes it bit him in the ass.

When Anduin's mother had died, Anduin had felt the pain twice over, once for his own grief and then again because of his father's pain.

Wrathion's struggle was so intense the emotional waves washed over Anduin without the priest having to focus at all, however, without Anduin's attention all he got was a jumbled mess so distorted that he couldn't even tell what was useful information and what wasn't. Though he suspected Wrathion was equally as incoherent. "Wrathion." Anduin said finally, setting his tome on the trunk at the foot of the bed, "come here."

"Can't. Sit. Still." Wrathion bit out like words were hard for him.

"I know, but I can help," Anduin assured him. Wrathion looked strangely at the priest but willed himself over to the side of Anduin's bed. "Sit down." Anduin gestured to a spot beside him, "and face me." Wrathion followed instructions and gazed at Anduin with an expression Anduin couldn't quite place. Something akin to hunger was the closest he could get to describing it.

"What makes you think you can help me?" Wrathion asked. "I don't mean to be like mean or anything I'm just curious."

"Priests are known to bring peace to those who have been through unimaginable strife. I am trained to help alleviate what ails you." Anduin replied, his voice soft. "Just relax, and tell me anything that comes to mind."

Wrathion grunted as though he was better than ranting but quickly fell to it. "I don't expect you to believe me but I have always wanted to take my father's place as Earth Warder but now that I have it... quite frankly, I'm scared out of my wits."

"What are you scared of?"

"Becoming my father. I literally have the weight of the whole world on my shoulders and I'm afraid I'm going to be what everyone thinks I will become."

Anduin smiled at his friend, "Not everyone believes that of you. I would not have vouched for you had I thought that to be your path." Wrathion gave Anduin a rather vulnerable expression in reply. One Anduin had not thought Wrathion capable of. He always seemed so calm and apathetic about everything.

Wrathion swallowed thickly, "no one ever has before." He whispered. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

"The fact you are worrying about not becoming Deathwing proves already that you are better than him."

"I suppose." Wrathion yawned and shook himself back into his standard poker face. "But I have more immediate problems I guess. The world is not in any immediate danger I'll know when it is. My other concern is more of a question than a problem."

"Shoot."

"Well you mortal types seem to be obsessed about choosing gay or straight but why do I have to pick? Why can't I like both?"

Anduin understood that one, more than just his empathy he understood. "I'm with you. My father and the Worgen king are trying to set me up with girls. They're perfectly nice mind you, they just don't strike my fancy. Genn and my dad keep telling me we just haven't found 'the one' but I'm beginning to doubt I will."

"See that's the problem with being royalty, you're parents not only control everything but their shadow hangs over you forever no matter what you do!"

"Unless your name is Arthas." Anduin chided.

Arthas Menethil used to be a human paladin, and heir to the Lordaeron throne. Until the young paladin began to take a dark path. Once beloved by his kingdom Arthas, upon discovering of a plague outbreak in a city known as Stratholme, decided that the best course of action would be to slay all the inhabitants of the city to prevent the spread of the plague. He had later gone on to become the Lich King. Leader of the undead armies collectively called the Scourge. His father had all but been forgotten in the horrific wake of death in his son's actions. Though Arthas had been put down when Anduin was still relatively young.

"He doesn't count!" Wrathion purred. "He only outmatched his father because of a mass genocide! Neither of us is going down that route I hope."

Anduin smiled and pawed at his friend's black jacket. "I think you'd better keep an eye on me!" Anduin announced.

"You aren't going to-"

"I'm a known heartbreaker!" Anduin interrupted Wrathion's thought. Trying to lighten the mood some.

"Don't lie! You cant even walk up to anybody without getting nervous!" Wrathion retorted catching Anduin's hand in his own paws, having transformed just enough to not be holding Anduin's hand, to which the latter was slightly disappointed, but not enough to be stabbing the human with talons or scales.

Anduin smirked, pouncing lightly on the lithe male. "Yeah well, you talk a big game for someone who can't get another in bed with him!"

"Not true!" Wrathion slipped out of Anduin's grip and wrestled the taller boy into the mattress with surprising strength. Especially given how deliberate he had been so as not to hurt his play mate's bad leg.

Anduin wondered if Wrathion had ever had someone to do something as childish as play fight or to spend all night talking about whatever came to mind.

The soft gaze from the dragon implied no. Though Anduin hadn't really either, he had his dad but it was different to have a friend or sibling to share passions with on a level adults had a hard time understanding. "Oh? Now I'm curious, who have you ever taken to bed?" Anduin said finally.

"You." Wrathion puffed his chest proudly.

Anduin flushed a bright red at that. "Not the same!" Anduin hissed avoiding the dragon's eyes.

"For now." Wrathion purred, Anduin rolled his eyes but internally scolded himself for being so transparent about how he felt about Wrathion. Despite Wrathion being another man, a black dragon, kin of Onyxia who had delighted in emotionally tormenting Anduin and Varian, and Wrathion being on par with a god, Anduin was beginning to foster something of a crush on the Black Prince.

Despite Wrathion's flirting Anduin couldn't gauge how the dragon actually felt about him in return. The pair stared at one another for a nearly awkwardly long time. "May I do something totally insane?"

Wrathion tilted his head in confusion. "Sure." He agreed. "I do believe you told me you had something for me when away from prying eyes. I think we're away from anyone else."

Anduin grinned from ear to ear than. "Yes, I do." He leaned forward, much the same way that Wrathion had earlier and pressed their lips together.

Wrathion took a second to process what was happening but quickly began to follow Anduin's lead. As Wrathion returned the kiss, Anduin, despite his concerns about how quickly he had developed such strong feelings in such a short amount of time, forgot all of the things that were going on outside of the room or all the things he had to worry about. In that long moment, everything felt right with the world. Wrathion quickly grew impatient with the gentle nature of the exchange and began to experiment with his limits. Pressing down on Anduin just enough to get the human to lay back and allow Wrathion to loom over him like a predator about to deal the killing blow to prey.

But no pain came, instead, only more kisses and hushed laughs as the pair tried to figure out what they were trying to do. Wrathion's breathing and adjusting causing their bodies to press together, not in any weird way yet but just enough to excite Anduin from how new and different everything was. Every nerve he had was on fire and they were still fully clothed and not even doing anything that Anduin could get in trouble for. Sure he wasn't encouraged to go around kissing boys but he had no strict rule forbidding it. Anything farther than that though, if he was found out, while not likely still very possible Anduin let something slip he wasn't supposed, to his dad would be furious.

Either way, the boys had no real idea of what they were doing and thus wouldn't get very far short of one having something in mind to try.

It mattered not though because the door creaked open, causing Wrathion to roll away from Anduin, attempting to catch his breath before the intruder could see anything. "Will you two go to sleep?!" Left hissed from the doorway, "settle your differences tomorrow!" The door closed surprisingly softly after that leaving Wrathion and Anduin in the dark again.

"Well, I suppose that means we should split up for the night." Wrathion mused darkly.

"Aw, we don't have to! You can stay over here if you want." Anduin complained, trying to be quiet so as not to incur Left's wrath.

"I'll bother you all night," Wrathion replied going to stand up.

"No, you won't. Trust me." Anduin pawed sleepily at the dragon who sighed and took a seat on Anduin's unoccupied side of the bed.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." With that Wrathion settled down into the sheets, "and thanks, for vouching for me today. That means a lot more than you realize." and before Anduin could even react was snoring away. Anduin laughed to himself at how quickly Wrathion had dozed off, it had been a really long day for him it seemed. Anduin rolled over and closed his eyes allowing sleep to claim him.

Chapter 11: Nozdormu

Wrathion had no idea what to do now. Not only had Anduin confirmed that he shared Wrathion's affections for the other, but he had also taken the first move. As odd as he found the experience Wrathion had liked the intimacy and closeness with the human.

Which posed a number of problems because Wrathion was a dragon, not a mortal.

Not wanting to leave his questions unanswered and his wants swept under the rug he hefted himself up from Anduin's side before the sun rose the next morning and took off from the balcony, shifting into his true form during the jump and flapped powerful wings in an attempt to gain some height. He was still getting used to how large he had gotten. Before he got far from the tavern he noticed a small group of black shadows moving across the dry plains at the base of the mountains. Deciding to see if breakfast had come to him Wrathion swooped down to get a closer look.

To his surprise, he found an Alliance war party. Royal guards escorting the King himself to the base of the mountain. All of the human's eyes were on Wrathion as he descended to the ground in front of the party. "King Wrynn." Wrathion greeted, not feeling any need to bow before a mortal king.

Varian apparently felt the same about a dragon. "Greetings." Varian nodded politely at the dragon. "Forgive me for the intrusion, but I wished to do my first weekly report with Anduin in person."

It has not been a week.

Instead of commenting on this, Wrathion nodded, "Very well, though I request you forgive me for not being a very good host, I was just going to collect a meal before fetching Anduin and taking him with me to a meeting I must attend." Wrathion lied easily, he had been planning on going alone to this 'meeting' but this worked well as an excuse not to bring Anduin. "Though because of your visit I will entrust his safety with you and grant you some privacy." Wrathion continued. "Once you arrive at the tavern speak to the human woman with red hair, she will help you rouse the prince and ensure additional safety should you need it."

"Thank you." Varian nodded, listening intently. "When will you return?"

"No later than sundown." Wrathion estimated. Even if he wasn't finished with his mission by then he could make a pit stop for the night and continue his task in the morning.

"Very well. I will expect to see you then." Varian said Wrathion nodded and pushed off the earth again and floated above the human patrol who gazed up at him in awe, save Varian, as they passed under him. Many of the guards were young Wrathion noted, hardly older than Anduin so he supposed none had seen a true dragon before. Though he did notice wolfman and a man with short red hair beside Varian who only spared Wrathion the cautious glance. Once they had passed Wrathion beat his wings and went soaring across the land. He did manage to snatch a wild oxen herd for breakfast before he began his flight to Southern Kalimdor.

***

Wrathion, now that he was big enough to fly long distances in a timely and safe manner, found it silly to take the boats if he was going alone, despite the near-instant translocation the ships provided, it was infinitely more rewarding, and only a slight bit longer, to fly. Plus he got to fill up on fish as he went.

It was maybe an hour before he felt the heat of Kalimdor wash over his scales. It took only a moment more before he saw the small huddle of mountains the marked the home of the Bronze Dragonflight. He landed in the center of a ruined clearing. Clock towers lay scattered half-buried in the sand in the small mesa that was hidden in the center of the mountains. Which in no way gave away their depth.

"Halt!" A voice called from beside Wrathion. Begrudgingly, he followed instructions, he knew his flight had a reputation for destruction so to stop a black dragon was not totally uncalled for. That and most dragons of separate flights were questioned before being granted entry, for safety's sake. A smaller Bronze Drake glided over to the intruder calmly. She looked younger than Wrathion in body but her eyes revealed her age was well beyond that. "What brings you to the Caverns of Time?" The Drake asked.

"I am to speak with Nozdormu." Wrathion replied evenly.

"Is he expecting you?"

"I don't believe Aspects have to book appointments with one another." Wrathion retorted. He did like being able to fall back on that to help him appear more confident than he felt.

The Drake blinked at him a few times. "Very well. You'll find him in the heart of the mountain." With a single beat of her wings she was out of his way, returning to circle her route above the mesa.

"Thank you." Wrathion grunted and glided through the narrow archway into the Caverns. The descent went down for miles and was heavily decorated with stars and otherworldly things. Finally rounding the corner from one of the main twisting tunnels Wrathion flew into a clearing. This one had hallways branching off it at random intervals. In it's center was a huge circular platform with a massive working golden hourglass centered on it. Sitting in front of the hourglass was the huge bronze Aspect. He sat, making him nearly as tall as the hourglass which reached the roof of the cavern many miles up from the floor. Had he been standing on two paws the Aspect would be large enough to burst through the roof of this chamber and into the mountain itself. With Dragons generally about halfing their height when they moved from sitting to four paws and doubling their height moving from sitting to standing on two paws.

Golden eyes flicked up to the newcomer as soon as Wrathion entered. "Wrathion." Nozdormu tilted his head at the young Aspect. "What brings you to the Cavernsss of Time ssso sssoon?"

"I seek an auidence with you if you have some time."

"Time isss a mortal concept." Nozdormu replied. "Ssso long as I draw breath, I will have time."

Wrathion took a second to process his words. "I see." Wrathion eyed the other bronze dragons around the room. "Is there anywhere we can go that will be more private? It is not a conversation I wish to have in front of strangers."

The Bronze Aspect nodded, and the world went golden for a second before they were in a completely empty version of the Cavern. Nozdormu stretched his wings idely. "I do not sssense a dire disturbance with the mortals for another ssseveral ssseasons. What bothers you so?"

"I wanted to ask you to glimpse into the future for me."

"While I understand what you are asking of me, what isss it you ssseek?"

"I want to pursue a relationship with a mortal and I need you're advice on how to get the best probable outcome."

Nozdormu stared at Wrathion for a while. "Well, you know as well as I do what you will have to do to thisss 'mortal'. You will be responsible, at least in hisss mind, for the death of hisss father."

"Is there any way I can avoid that?"

"Not that I can sssee." Nozdormu replied gently, his voice dropping in volume. "I know thisss is going to be hard for you to accept but I advise you to leave the idea of a mortal consort behind."

"Why?"

"Mortalsss do not have the lifespan we do. They will die a thousand timesss over before we even begin to feel age. They cannot escape time."

"Time is a social construct made by mortals!" Wrathion echoed.

"But it isss one that will claim you're friend in what, to you, is a blink of an eye." Nozdormu growled, with no malice in his voice, he was just trying to get through to Wrathion. "He will die before you can truly begin to love him."

Chapter 12: Kalecgos

Wrathion left the Caverns of Time more uneasy than he had arrived. Nozdormu spoke sense of course but surely there had to be a way for it to work for everyone?

Who can I ask for such a specific question? He growled to himself flying in a random direction to try and get the wind to soothe him and cool his head.

It wasn't until Wrathion felt the stinging cold of Winterspring that the dragon realized exactly who he needed to speak to. Kalecgos was very much in a romantic relationship with a human named Jaina Proudmoore. Who in turn was also a powerful spell caster.

With newfound determination Wrathion flew to the continent of Northrend reaching the Nexus, entrance to The Eye of Eternity, within the hour. Again he was stopped at the entrance but this time by a huge male. One Wrathion recognized from the Accord the day before. This one had been one of Kalecgos' companions the day before. Senegos was his name Wrathion believed. "State your business." The dragon ordered sleepily.

"I wish to speak to the Spell-Weaver."

"He is expecting you in the Eye of Eternity." The dragon replied, wandering away.

Once Wrathion arrived at a tiny blue orb in the center of a floating circular platform he placed his paw on it and blinked. Opening his eyes into space void of anything but stars and a blue and white platform under him. Kalecgos stood before him as well. "Wrathion." The greeting was friendly. "I figured you'd have some questions."

"Not about what you'd expect." Wrathion replied.

"You would be surprised about what I expected you to come to me about." Kalecgos smiled toothily at him. The dragon beckoned him forward, pushing off the ledge and gliding off into space.

Wrathion followed, despite his uncertainty about Kalecgos, which was mostly due to their last conversation. It felt good to soar through space. It looked endless but the air was crisp and cool and he began to see that stars in the sky were networks of platforms and studios. Some proved to be lairs as the pair flew past and others still were full of tomes and ink and parchment. "I'll race you to the farthest platform over there." Wrathion challenged the older dragon. Among creatures so magnificent as Wyrms and even as primitive as Proto-Drakes, racing was a fun competition that the extremes of either species could take part in just as easily as anyone else.

"You challenge me in my own realm?" Kalecgos laughed. "Good luck!" Wrathion beat his wings with intent now that Kalecgos had accepted his challenge and set off towards the platform. He could hear Kalecgos catching up behind him and pushed harder.

Just as Wrathion made it to the platform the other blue dragon swept forward and touched down first. "That's cheating!" Wrathion growled, amused that Kalecgos would have lost had it not been for his familiarity with the area.

"No it's not!" The Blue replied, "it would have been cheating had I froze you!"

Wrathion smiled. "True enough I suppose."

The pair set off again and flew in silence for a long while. "You have questions regarding your mortal companion. What is it you wish to know?" Kalecgos broke the silence finally.

Wrathion was surprised at Kalecgos' foresight. He explained to the Blue the situation he had with Anduin and while he was sure Kalecgos knew most of it already judging by his knowledge of Wrathion's mission, Kalecgos listened to him. "Nozdormu told me that because mortals age much faster than dragons, that it wasn't worth investing time and effort into."

"Well, on some level, he's right. But because of how short-lived they are, mortals love much more fiercely than say another dragon." Kalecgos said, "and besides many mortals can live past their average amount of years thanks to advancements in magic and technology. Khadgar is thought to be, somewhere in Outland, over a thousand years old. So it is not to say they are doomed to die young. High prophet Velen was fully grown when the Burning Legion attacked Argus and still lives thousands of years later to tell about it.

"But Velen is a Draenei, they can live for a quarter of a millennium." Wrathion pointed out.

"But more importantly, he's a priest and he takes care of himself and those around him." Kalecgos said, "some Draenei waste away before they reach 100 because of the negligence of themselves much the way humans do."

"What does Anduin being a priest have to do with it?"

"Priests can bring even the old and sickly back into their stronger days, extremely powerful ones can undo the damage done by time if the need arises."

"You think Anduin is that powerful?"

"I think he has the potential to be." Kalecgos thought for a moment before he spoke again, "and if you are getting into it and are worried about it I do know of something that can help perhaps."

"What is it?"

"If a time comes when you are ready to be Anduin's mate then I shall tell you."

Wrathion shot a glance at Kalecgos. "Mate?"

"Humans, in particular, tend to be fond of monogamy. They do not like to share their prizes." Kalecgos explained, "Anduin if he is invested in this as well, is in it for a mate and partner, not someone he loves to sleep around as he pleases."

"We can't even reproduce together what do you mean mate?" Wrathion tried to keep the barb out of his voice but he wasn't sure what Kalec was getting at.

"Humans generally share their lives with their partner, unlike us who have a small harem of consorts, they tend to stay with their partners whether they can reproduce together or not." Wrathion turned this information over in his head a few times. "Besides humans and dragons both are incredibly sexual creatures, whether or not you can bear offspring is irrelevant that the act of mating is something that is likely to happen."

"Wait how...?" Wrathion was struggling to picture that. "We don't have... I'm a dragon and-"

"You would need to stay in human form but yes, it could work." Wrathion still must have looked as confused as he felt because Kalecgos continued, "do you know how humans reproduce?"

"They-" Wrathion scoured his brain. He had never really thought to care about information such as mortal mating rituals before. "The same thing we do, just on a smaller scale?"

Kalecgos shrugged. "Sort of. But they don't do eggs. Now think about how that happens and try and figure out how that would work between two males."

Wrathion had an image rush into his mind. One that shocked him nearly out of the air. Anduin was- "Sounds really painful." Wrathion grunted trying to hide the weird mesh of emotions the image stirred up in him.

"Humans are more clever than you give them credit for." Kalecgos replied lightly.

"But you just told me I'm barely getting to be an adult in size, what if, how does that work? I can't go telling people the prince is sleeping with a dragon whelp."

"No of course not." Kalecgos agreed. "But age in years is a mortal tracking device. Dragons age in maturity and size instead. You were an adult long before yesterday and now your size reflects that."

"I see." Wrathion hummed to himself. "So... you're with a human, right?"

"I've been with humans for a very long time, yes." Kalecgos replied.

"Do you think it's a waste of time?" Wrathion asked the question hounding at him since Nozdormu.

"Not at all." Kalecgos said firmly. "Being with a human forces you to live. Humans spend every day doing things that matter most to them because they don't have the time that we have to sleep for millennia. Every moment matters to them and that's important to remember when dealing with them, even non-romantically. But the important question to ask yourself is, do you think it's a waste of time?"

Chapter 13: Return of the King

A sharp jab to the side brought Anduin into consciousness. 

"Your father wishes to speak with you." Right said once Anduin lifted his head sleepily to acknowledge Right's prodding.

"Uh, okay." Anduin slurred, "I'll be down in a minute." what in the world is dad doing here?

Anduin realize, not only because of the emptiness in his bed but the fact that Right was waking him implied Wrathion had found better things to do.Which hurt Anduin's feelings he had to admit. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, Wrathion and Anduin could have been a thing, found hope and comfort and friendship and happiness with each other. He was wrong it seemed. He forced the thought aside and collected himself, changing into a more presentable clothing choice. Anduin staggered down the steps and, while he shouldn't have been, was surprised at Varian's presence at the table in the center of the ground floor. "Hey, Dad." Anduin greeted cheerfully, hiding his other concerns behind a smile.

"Anduin," Varian replied, his tone was friendly, he was not prone to showing his affections the way Anduin was, but he tried his best. "Come have a seat, tell me how the last days have been."

Anduin sat at the table across from his father. "I've had a lot of fun!" Anduin began without thinking. "We got to go to the Wyrmrest Accord and Wrathion became a full Aspect! It was amazing!"

Varian blinked a few times. "Wrathion is now the Earth Warder?" He sounded like he didn't believe it.

"Yes." Anduin nodded, choosing to leave out his own part of the meeting. He went on for a long time about all his recent adventures, save the ones he knew better than to tell until the sun set behind the mountains.

"I'm glad you've been having fun but listen, we have to go home now, I can't trust the kin of Onyxia with my only son. You know how much you mean to me."

Anduin grimaced at that, he shouldn't have been reluctant to leave the Tavern given Wrathion's seeming abandonment, but he was. "Dad you already agreed to this with him. I know you're worried but I'll be fine. I've cheered up a lot since I got out here. Velen was right."

"Yes but-"

"Dad I'm only going to get worse if I come home now. I love you I promise I do but I need some time to come into myself."

Varian sighed and looked at the ground. "I know things have been tough since your mom passed but-"

"It's gotten worse lately dad, you know how paranoid I was getting before we set this up and honestly I had good reason to be, if Garrosh finds me, I'm dead, there are no more chances, no more taking prisoners with him. He's going to kill me if he gets the chance. Let me stay up here until this calms down and Garrosh is dealt with, then I can come home with you."

"What are we talking about?" A thundering voice rattled the building and Wrathion, in human form, landed neatly on the doorstep. Without a word, or even really a glance at Anduin the dragon came and sat beside the prince at the table. Ignoring how Anduin’s eyes were immediately glued to the dragon, he seemed, different somehow, happier and more confident. Anduin wasn’t even sure if he could call it a facade because of how easily Wrathion carried it.

"So kind of you to join us." Varian deadpanned. "How did your meeting go?"

Meeting? What meeting?

"About the same as all meetings go," Wrathion replied, "has Anduin shown you Jihui? Great game, tells you a lot about your opponent."

"Really? Do you play poker?" Varian asked, a playful glint in his eye

"You don't want to challenge a dragon to poker, you can never read them." Anduin smiled.

"Well true, but yes. I play." Wrathion agreed. "Right would you get me my cards please?" Right handed him the deck of leather-bound cards with gems woven in that served as the number or pattern for the card. "Do either of your friends play?" Wrathion signaled to Genn Graymane outside the tavern.

"Genn does, yes." Varian answered good-natured, "Shaw cheats."

"Can I play?" Anduin asked sheepishly, he had of course seen the adults play the game but had never previously old enough, or driven enough, to play with them, but if Wrathion was going to, maybe the dragon would spare Anduin a glance then.

"Sure." Both men said. "Genn! Come play cards with us!" Varian called out to the Worgen who happily joined the others at the table. Anduin set his hands on either side of him on the bench while Wrathion shuffed and dealt.

Much to Anduin's surprise, just before the game started, Wrathion's unoccupied hand curled around Anduin's on the bench. They exchanged a look and a small smile before the game begun. Out of the corner of his eye Anduin noticed Varian’s eyes had softened and his smile was much more relaxed and genuine.

***

Some hours passed and the royal guard was planning to head out. Anduin with them Anduin assumed due to not having heard anything different from his father. "See you later?" Anduin asked Wrathion quietly at the top of the stairs, wanting to have Wrathion acknowledge him before he began to pack his stuff.

"Absolutely," Wrathion replied, a swift kiss was shared, much to Anduin's surprise before Wrathion vacated the space to allow his guests to move about.

Varian came up the stairs behind Anduin, startling him, he didn't think his father had seen anything but wasn't sure. "Anduin. I thought about what you said." Varian began, "and I will permit you to stay longer."

Anduin felt his eyes light up. "Really?!"

Varian smiled and nodded, "yes, you are the happiest I've seen you since your mother died and... I think we finally found someone you'd be interested in taking as a suitor. Albeit that will be a ways in the future and some negotiations to be had but you remind me of myself when I was young and first starting to fall in love with your mother." Varian lost himself to thought for a moment. "You will have to return home at some point, but I will allow you to stay until Garrosh is dealt with. If you need to come home sooner you need only say so."

Anduin was delighted, "thank you so much, dad!" He didn't even mind that Varian had implied Wrathion and Anduin might be married someday. For now all that mattered was that his father had agreed to let him stay. "You won't regret it!"

"I know I won't," Varian replied, smiling, before turning to Wrathion, who had faded into a dark corner save his glowing red eyes which gave him away. "Thank you, for your hospitality young Wrathion, we will be speaking again soon I should think."

With that, Varian and his troops were gone, leaving Wrathion and Anduin alone at the top of the stairs.

[9r7g5h]

Her Little Garthy

Fandom: Fantasy High

Rating: K

Genre: General

Summary:  In which a previous Ayda gains her child.

Words: 2097

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantasy High.

AN: So, Garthy specifically stated that they were from Zajiri celestials, and they’re a half orc. While Ayda could be their bio mother, Ayda has also said in her notes that she hasn’t been in love with anyone for at least the last three lifetimes, spanning the last 150 years. Garthy is nowhere near that old, and Ayda is half phoenix, not related to the Zajiri at all, while Garthy also exhibits no bird-like features. So, best conclusion is adopted families and with the cuteness of Jawbone adopting Adaine, this went ahead and popped out as well.

Ayda Aguefort legitimately wasn’t used to people being inside of her library. Other than Roland, who she had hired many, many years ago as a young man, it was common for her to pass her many days reading and writing and studying without seeing a single other soul. Silence, broken only by the sound of her quill on paper and the rustle of pages, the occasional thunk as she dropped a book back into place, her hands getting a bit too old for the larger of them.

It was nice, in a way. She was old, early fifties by her count, as inaccurate as it was, since she didn’t have an exact date of her last reincarnation. The person she had hired, according to her notes, to take care of her had skipped out when she was young, leaving Roland for the task he was woefully unprepared for. But he had taught her to read and write and use the magic within her, all the things her absent father should have done, so she was grateful, to him and for the silence. She knew she was off, knew something about her seemed strange to others, and so she accepted and enjoyed the silence for what it was.

Except, now, there was an orc woman standing in her library. Clearly suffering from exhaustion, weakened by some unknown affliction Ayda would have to study later, and, most obvious and concerning, coated in blood both her own and not. Her clothes were tattered, clearly showing signs of the fight she had most likely been in just a short while before, especially since her sword was still dripping blood onto the wood of Ayda’s library.

She was also cradling an infant in her other arm, another thing that intrigued Ayda, but that would have to wait for further examination.

“Please,” the orc woman said, holding out the infant to Ayda. “Please, take her.”

Ayda had had very little interaction with children in this life, though a previous one who had made children of various species their subject of investigation had left incredibly detailed notes. So she knew how to cradle the child’s head with her elbow, keeping the infant face up so it could breathe, the runes on her arms flaring slightly to produce the extra heat something so small would most certainly need.

It was so tiny. Fascinating.

“Do you require assistance?” Ayda asked once she had made sure the child was secure, her mind content that said task was complete. “I am not a healer, but I can escort you to-“

“No,” the orc woman said, even as she unsteadily lowered herself to the floor. “No, please, just, let’s just stay inside. No one will bother us here.”

Ayda wanted to ask what the orc woman meant, but there was also part of her that could take a very well-educated guess as to what she was talking about. Ayda was considered weird here on the Leviathan, an anomaly, a magic user amongst all of the pirates that focused on swords and their primitive miniature cannons. Sure, there were some pirates that knew a bit of magic, enough to call up a wind to fill their sails, or those druids who were trying to grow a garden on the north western side of the city, but nothing like her.

There was nothing like her anywhere.

Except, to an extent, the infant she was now holding in her arms.

It was clear the child was a celestial, probably from one of the angelic fiends that inhabited orcish religions. Zajiri, if she had to take a guess, though she would have to reexamine the child and compare the brief mental notes she had taken to the books she knew she had, second floor, twelfth row on the left side of the library. Maybe she could convince the mother to let her borrow the child for a bit, later, when she wasn’t slowly leaking a large puddle of blood.

“Are you sure you do not require assistance? I am available to help if you require it.” For, of course, a fair and reasonable price, but Ayda had been taught to not bring that up when someone was in obvious danger. It was rude, and could potentially hold up events that needed to happen at a quicker pace.

Still, the orc woman shook her head.

“No, I’m alright,” the woman said. She took a few deep breathes, placed her hand over her lower stomach, and the puddle of blood stopped growing as a low light glowed from her hand. A healer, then. “I just needed somewhere safe to rest for a bit.” She stopped for a moment, looked at Ayda. “I’ve heard what you can do. What kind of person you are. Figured you wouldn’t hurt a baby, and could maybe help ward off those who would.”

Ayda gave a jerky nod of her head, adjusting her arm as her shoulder started to feel sore. She disliked violence, though she was well versed in quite a number of spells to protect herself and her library as necessary. She had actually just been working on one a short while before, to help with the unraveling of someone’s very essence. A work in progress, but it showed promise.

“Your child is a celestial.” A statement, though perhaps with the slightest bit of a question behind it.

“As are you,” the orc woman said back, giving a small shrug. “Don’t know what you are,” she added, “but mine at least isn’t a bird.”

Ayda gave a squawk of laughter, finding humor in the orc woman’s statement, she following with a chuckle of her own shortly after.

“It’s funny, because I’m only part bird, and your child doesn’t seem to have any bird within them,” Ayda explained, the orc woman giving a nod at her explanation. No other words, but still the nod made her feel warm inside, at least for a moment. “Is that why you came here, because of our shared heritage from the celestial realms? If you’re looking for information on your child’s legacy, I could be of some service.”

A shake of the head, the orc woman’s previous brief smile disappearing. “You’re strong, right?”

Another jerky nod from Ayda.

“Strong enough to protect a baby, if anyone should try to harm it?”

Another jerky nod, though this one with confusion.

“I am not sure why anyone would try to harm a child, especially in the presence of a wizard, but if you need my help keeping this one safe, I would be happy to help. Do you require this assistance?”

“Good,” the orc woman said. After another moment of sitting, she forced herself to rise, Ayda rising with her, not even aware of when she had sat on the floor to be face to face with this strange orc woman, the child still in her hands. “Look,” the orc woman continued, stretching out the soreness in her muscles that remained even after the healing, “there some asshole out there, James Whitclaw or some shit, who wants to eat my baby’s brains. Kidnapped me from my ship when the word got out that I was birthing something special, thinks it might help him become king or something someday. I’ll be damned before I let that bastard touch that skull, but I’m badly outnumbered. I won’t ask you to come with me, but no one will try to take my baby from you here. Will you watch her until I come back?”

Ayda paused for a moment, looking down at the child in her arms. Sleeping soundly, maybe a few hours old, still wrinkly and that weird newborn orcish green before it settled into its permanent shade.

“Will you allow me to research your child during this time, until you return for it?”

The orc woman snorted and nodded her agreement. “Thought you might say that, from what I’ve heard of ya.”

“Then by the seven seas and the twelve stars and the nine hells, I will care for your child as my own until you have returned to claim it.” Ayda’s runes flared as she spoke her oath, the orc woman satisfied with that response.

“Let me see her real quick then,” the orc woman said, holding out her arms. Ayda was careful handing the child over, watching curiously as the orc woman sniffed the infant’s head, held it close to her chest, and placed a quick kiss on its forehead, causing it to coo and murmur in its sleep.

A brief pang of jealousy, that Ayda quickly forgot about as the child was returned to her care.

“Garthy,” the orc woman said as she reached the door, not turning back. “The babe’s name is Garthy O’Brien.” And with that the orc woman was gone, sword on her should, prepared to go make the world a safer place for her child.

Ayda leaned down as the door closed shut and sniffed the infant’s head, her eyebrow raising as she smelled the strange scent the newborn gave off. Not the various odors one expected from a child, pleasant but not overly so. Fascinating.

“Well, Garthy,” Ayda said as she headed towards the stairs, shifting the child in her arms to a more comfortable position, “I have promised your mother that I would care for you as if you were my own. While I have never had children, as far as my knowledge of my past lives allows me, you are now legally mine until your mother returns. An hour? Maybe two? That should be enough time for me to study you, get a sense of your origins.”

At some point during her statement, one of Garthy’s large eye slid open, looking up at Ayda with sleep and curiosity in equal measures. Curious pupils, a wonderful color, just hinting at the mystic within the child, just waiting to be found.

Ayda leaned down and kissed Garthy on the forehead, the child quickly lulled back to sleep by the warmth of her runes, safe and warm until its mother returned.

***

Ayda Augefort legitimately wasn’t used to people being inside of her library. Other than Roland, who she had hired many, many years ago as a young man, it was common for her to pass her many days reading and writing and studying without seeing a single other soul. Other than, of course, her child, Garthy. A health ten years old, if she had to guess, though half orc aasimars weren’t her specialty, they were happy to spend their time sitting with her in her library, handing her the books that her hands were too old for, taking notes for when her eyes were beginning to fail her.

She hadn’t been the best of mothers, of course. She had been woefully unprepared for the challenges of raising a child, especially one that had been left with her by an orc woman in the middle of the night, once for the child to be left for what Ayda had to presume was the rest of their lives. The orc woman had never come back, and knowing the Leviathan and a smattering of statistics, it was highly unlikely she ever would.

But Ayda had taught Garthy how to read and write and how to use the magic within them, had learned to cook more then just a basic sandwich to feed her new child, and had even considered reaching out to Arthur to let him know about his new grandchild, though she had lost the nerve just before she had. So far she had given them all of the love that she could, in her own strange way of showing it, and Garthy was happy and healthy and seemed to be doing alright.

And by the seven seas and the twelve stars and the nine hells, until the day her next reincarnation was to come, she would make sure that was the case. She loved her little child, the small creature that had so quickly grown from the squalling infant, her little Garthy, and even in her next life, she would make sure that Ayda loved them too.

(And she would, even without the notes reminding her to love Garthy with all her heart, to love her child she couldn’t remember, Ayda would love them. Because Garthy would teach her how to reach and write and use the magic within her, and would love her with all of their heart, and even before Ayda could do so, as Garthy picked her newborn form out of the ashes, Ayda would love them.)

[orkzrul3]

nasha's journal #1

Today is going to be good I think it's been A little under three years since I have set off on my own Venturing from settlement to settlement. As of currently I'm staying in the step right inn Located in the Port City of Briar Glen. I was feeling a little tired today as I could not sleep great the night before .So for my workout today I only did 100 push-ups 100 sit-ups and 100 squats Instead of my regular 250 Of each.

Then I went downstairs And had breakfast 12 pancakes with all the usual dressings like always. After a hearty meal I usually like to Take a walk down by the pier and look at all the passing ships. After a time I had decided to go down to the shopping district And Look at the plate Armor on display in the blacksmith It is polished to a mirror shine and I can see my orcish features in the steel. Steel so well Smithed that nary Bastard Sword or arrow and all of the land of Azrael Could Pierce its exterior

But alas 1500 gold pieces is far too Expensive. I'd wager to bet if I were the best adventurer in In the city It would take me an entire year so that kind of coin. Just as that thought crossed my mind I had realized that I was getting hungry. So I had decided to stop back in to where I was staying to eat lunch They they were serving mutton so I Ordered the largest Leg They had.

After that it was around 3 p.m. so I had Decided to Go up to my room And pray for Thor's blessing. After that it was about 3:30 And My throat was getting dry So I had decided to go downstairs and quench my thirst at The bar. It was Quite busy at the inn People were bustling about enjoying late lunches and early dinners; I walked up to the bartender a man by the name of Gregory And requested the strongest drink he had.

And for any Tips on where I could find Work he kindly directed me to the job board across the room from the bar.

Just then An Athletically built Elven woman had walked Up to the bar and I ordered a cold glass of water She then proceeded to drink it like a shot. I said I “Wow...I like your style ,my name is Nasha What is yours?” She said her name was Astra And explained that she was also a woman of the cloth Who worshiped Helm

Just then we Had both noticed a rabbit Folk Who seemed to be very hyperactively Hopping around the Inn bothering many of the patrons. Just then I approached her which Seemed to make her nervous. Although she was very interested in my Winged helm. Which I was gifted by The clergy of my temple When I had set off on my adventure. In addition to my Warhammer Which I had learned that I had a natural ability with from an early age. She was Wielding a Quarterstaff And as she was presenting it a sharp blade of ice formed at one end And I stepped back a little bit in Surprise.

All three Of us had seen a job posted by the golden Covenant which entailed going to the town of Farwater A small fishing Village Which Had been experiencing Bandit attacks for one reason or another and doing away with said Ne'er-do-wells.

Just then the guild leader of the golden Covenant Walked into The very same inn that We were staying at her name was Hollan A stunningly tall and Incredibly muscular Breathtakingly beautiful half-orc Woman Adorned in shiny golden plate armor. And Tado had the Brilliant idea Of bothering her while she was enjoying a drink at the bar. I quickly stopped this and Barely manage to get out a very shaky apology.

Hollan asked If we were interested in the job I said yes again Very shakily My voice trembling with every word. That feeling was a very strange mix of desire and intimidation Something which I had never Felt before. I decided it would be preferable to Hide myself behind Astra To save myself at least a tiny bit of embarrassment and leave with A shred of my dignity intact.

And so we Headed out And Took a wagon provided by the golden covenant about a day and a half during which time we made light conversation and got to know each other eventually made it to The town of farwater proper. As soon as we did however we were accosted by a Duo of Bandits Although Astra punched one of them out and I had scared the other one off.

When we got there The streets were completely empty the marketplace that was usually bustling with activity was Barron and cold breeze blew in and took a tumble weed with it which is weird because We are nowhere near The Crimson desert.

All three of us had decided to take different routes Astra had decided to shout And call out for a residents. Tado Had thought it wise to Go from house to house wrapping on every door. As for me I decided It might be a wise idea to Check out the town hall.

As I proceed very cautiously I saw a small face peeking out of one of the windows Just Then tado Thought it might be a good idea to Ram The door full speed with her staff Although she stopped short and the door opened to reveal a Halfling Woman by the name of Vaora Hillbough Who was the mayor of the town.

Her voice was shaky and she was reluctant to give us information she said that Bandits were Ram sacking The Village and they must have been looking for something in one of the shipments but she Did not have the foggiest idea of what. We explained we were with the golden Covenant and she opened up almost immediately she said that the bandits were holed up in a cave a little ways from town And that we should head there if we wanted to put a stop to them Vaora Said that anything we needed they'd be happy to give us. Tado asked if there was any candy the closest thing this town had was fish on a stick tado being Vegetarian of course turned It down Although Astra and I, Took two of them out of politeness.

As soon as I took a bite though I threw up a little bit in my mouth Although our elf companion seemed to be enjoying hers and asked if I was going to finish mine I handed it to her and then we set off.

Singing old folk songs about Dungeons And the dragons that could sometimes be found inside of them as we walked. Just As we had finished singing the one about how scary the Demogorgon is we made it to farwater cave. We hear faint voices from inside Astra almost announces our presence but before she can I put my hand in front of her mouth and put a stop to it. And then Tado as an actually brilliant idea And she stomps her foot faster and louder than I have seen anything of her kind do before so it was so loud in fact that it created a thunderous boom which bounced through the Narrow Chamber Of The Cave entrance and took out at least three of the bandits.

Before I enter the cave I also have a moderately smart idea The pendant around my neck begins to Glow and a thick sphere of fog emanates from it. as all three of us cautiously enter we are then confronted by An additional Trio of Marauders. Several events happen in quick succession first Tado Used her druidic magic to freeze the water in the Mist into ice freezing the criminals in place. Secondly Astra used Powerful fists to a dispatch one of them in a singular blow

Sensing what was about to happen the evil-doers tempted to free themselves from their icy prison but were unsuccessful.

Thirdly I Bashed Brains using my beautiful boisterous Wonderful Warhammer. And Finally Tado cast ice knife As these Blades of cold and frost sunk in to the Flesh of this Bandit and then exploded outwards viscera flew everywhere and flecks of blood got in Todo's Soft brown fur and as I gazed into her eyes the only thing I witnessed was Pure unfiltered Delight.

As we move through the cave we heard sounds of Someone searching for something faster and faster Their motion is getting more and more frantic and panicked as the three of us moved closer. Hold up my shield as we Very deliberately move through An area with several bedrolls. We make it down another narrow passageway to the final chamber of farwater Cave.

What We find in this room is the Bandit chief she is a man very frantic in his mannerisms and action he looks incredibly focused on finding whatever he's trying to fight and I walk out to him and say "looking for something”? Understandably he gets quite frightened by my presence From there Astra Scoops him up and puts him under her arm key is thrashing and trying to escape very desperately I say listen either way can kill you right now or if you can tell us what's going on here and we can bring you back to the golden Covenant for Hollan to deal with. So he explains he's looking for an orb Some “kind of magic” he says He explains that She is worried that they are going to get his family also she would not explain who They were exactly.

Just then Astra finds that there is a secret compartment under one of the chests. she opens it To find an orb it Floats inside of container glows blue And Sparks a bit. Just then we hear the clatter of two sets of bony fish walking toward us two skeletons with evil grimaces and glowing green eyes Paralyzed us with some kind of poison darts Slaughtered the Bandit Chief In Cold Blood and make off with the orb.

So currently I am sitting paralyzed In between a very Punchy elf and a sort of bloodthirsty rabbit And I don't know where the rest of my day is going to go from here guess I'll find out soon enough.

[challito]

The University

The Spine of the World ended in a lighthouse. The beacon that crowned the towering structure was suspended hundreds of meters in the air by curved, marble walls. The monolith was rigid and grooved all the way up its height, giving the impression of a monstrous spine. Of course, there were stories which professed that is exactly what it was. Regardless of their truth, the spine was truly awe inspiring.

Ayella closed her mouth. She had seen the Spine from a great distance before. She had even seen it up close once, a very long time ago. As she recollected her thoughts, she noticed students and faculty of The University going about their business without a second glance at the tower.

She wondered if she too would become accustomed to its unreal grandeur. As she looked up at it one more time, she felt her mouth unintentionally drop open again. Somehow, she doubted that she would ever get used to it. Not wanting to draw anymore attention on herself, she shouldered her bags and went about looking for someone to welcome her.

It was the young Elf’s first day at the University. For most of her life she had remembered wishing to study within its halls and learn from its tutors. She dreamed of making friends, equally as intelligent as her. Or less so, but only slightly. She prayed for it, to every God of the Pantheon and more.

In her very bones, Ayella knew that attending the University was a truth etched into her Lens. However, life seldom runs smoothly. Instead of being born into a wealthy family of intellects, or aristocrats, Ayella had been born into a family of cobblers.

Instead of spending her days with her nose in books, she spent them buried in shoes instead. Usually shoes that had been well worn to the point of needing repair. Which is what her family earned most of their money doing. As the stench of well-worn shoes wafted up her nostrils, Ayella would pray. She would pray instead for the scent of fresh ink and musty pages.

It was a twist of fate that landed her in the University. A wealthy woman, tripping on the right street of Ketros at the right time, and Ayella to be equally placed to take advantage. So it was that with a little bit of cobbling and a little bit of quizzing, that Ayella had found herself a patron and entrance into the University.

Students and faculty in the University had little time for newcomers. They were too busy racing from one class to the next. Burdened with as much of her life could fit into a travelling bag, Ayella wandered the University grounds. She followed white, cobbled paths that twisted through manicured gardens. She wandered inside a quadrangle to find students – too busy to speak with her – lounging on its neatly trimmed lawn. She even accidently wandered into a classroom – which she thought to be a giant hall of sorts – from which she was promptly ejected.

Ayella wandered until she became worried that she would miss her admission all together. Would she have to wait another year before she would be allowed entry? She wasn’t sure if that’s exactly how the University worked, but she worried about it all the same.

Ayella found herself running around the grounds of the University, completely lost, until she stumbled upon the large courtyard that served as the entrance to University grounds. So it was that she returned to where she started, just as completely lost as she had ever been.

It was at that time that Ayella spotted a tall, spindly woman in a navy stola walking quickly from one building to the next. She had small spectacles perched precariously on the tip of her nose and heavy tomes under one arm. Ayella decided in her anxiety, that if she didn’t find out from this woman where she was supposed to go, she may as well leave the University forever and never return.

“Excuse me!” Ayella called as she rushed toward the the woman. “Excuse me! I need help.”

“Don’t we all.” The woman called as she continued along her route at the same pace.

“Please! I don’t know where to go. It’s my first day.” Ayella called, running to try and catch up to the woman.

“It’s confusing at first, but you’ll get the hang of it.” The woman replied.

“I just want to know who I should go to see first.” Ayella begged.

Having finally caught up, Ayella grabbed the woman’s thin wrist. The woman stopped. Ayella watched the bespectacled, beak-like nose as it slowly turned toward Ayella. Small, intimidating eyes peered over the glass and set upon her, eliciting a shiver.

“Young Elf. You presume too much.” The woman said sternly as she looked down from Ayella’s eyes to the hand that still grasped the woman’s wrist.

“Sorry.” Ayella said, quickly letting go. “I’m terribly sorry. I just don’t know where to go and no one will tell me, and I’m terrified I might miss the deadline to apply and never be…”

The spindly woman held up a single finger, cutting Ayella off. “That is the room you are looking for.” She said slowly, pointing at a nondescript classroom on the other side of the courtyard. “And when you are finished being terrified of missing your deadline, you will ask to be shown to Apinia’s office. When you arrive, I will educate you on what true terror looks like. Do you understand?”

“I’m really truly sorry about-” Ayella started.

“Do you understand?” Apinia cut her off.

Ayella nodded.

“Very good.” Apinia turned around without another word and hurried off in the direction she had been heading.

Ayella felt very alone then. She’d had one conversation in her entire time at the University and she had already made quite the fool of herself. Added to that, the fact that she was late for her first class. As Ayella walked quickly to the classroom Apinia had pointed to, for a very brief moment, the thought of leaving the University and going back to a life of cobbling passed through Ayella’s mind. But only very briefly.

Ayella reached the worn, wooden door and knocked shortly. There was no response that she could hear. After a painful moment of hesitation, Ayella pushed the door open. Before her, she found a small, utilitarian room and more than a dozen faces turning to look at her.

The clay walls had faded to brown. Whatever colour they had been painted originally, Ayella could not tell. There were just over a dozen students seated at worn wooden desks. All but one had turned to face Ayella. The only outlier stared whimsically out the closest window. The students began to turn to whisper to one another when a man with obvious orcish heritage at the head of the room spoke.

“Okay. Quiet down. What’s your name?” He asked in a deep voice.

“Ayella.” She tired to say, but her voice caught in her throat. Whatever noise she did emit sounded more frog than Matu. Instantly Ayella heard laughter and felt blood rush to her cheeks.

“Enough. Quiet.” The Orc instructed impatiently before turning back to Ayella. “Try again.”

Ayella swallowed hard. “Ayella.” She managed to squeak.

“Very good.” The man said in a slow, unenthusiastic drawl. “I am Cervice. I have the absolute pleasure of being your minder. Please sit, and do not make any noise.”

Ayella could feel the sarcasm dripping off every word he spoke, but she sat. She found a desk adjacent to only two students, one of whom was still preoccupied with staring out the window. The rest of the class slowly lost interest in Ayella. She watched as their faces returned to focus on Cervice who continued with what sounded like a very dull introduction to the University.

As she tired to focus on what Cervice was saying – he was explaining University regulations concerning waste disposal – Ayella found her attention drawn about the room. The boy sitting next to her was still staring out the window. He was marked as a Tainted. Two short horns protruded from his forehead. His skin was a dusty, pastel shade of purple and his long tail occasionally flicked impatiently behind his chair.

Most of the rest of the students were human. There were also a few Dwarves, an Aquan, a couple of Halflings and one that was marked as Blessed; her skin was a golden copper and her hair shone like polished bronze. Ayella always found it hard drawing her eyes from those marked as Blessed. Sitting in that bare room with Cervice droning on about laundry regulations, Ayella couldn’t help herself from stealing more and more frequent glances at the radiant Blessed.

“That concludes personal upkeep responsibilities and guidelines.” Cervice droned. “Which brings us to affinities.”

Most of the student’s ears pricked up at that. Affinities were unique paths or abilities that Matu showed a certain propensity for. One Matu might have an affinity for Fire slinging, whilst another Matu might have an affinity for running, or cooking. Ayella was sure that every student in that room was wishing for a dynamic and exciting affinity to be discovered within the halls of the University, she knew she was.

“Throughout the course of your stay at the University, however long that may be, we hope to help you discover your affinity and focus it. It is a long and challenging process, don’t be under any misconceptions to the contrary. However, your first, and largest step will come this evening at The Reading. Until then, try not to make a nuisance of yourself.” Cervice had already turned to a pile of paperwork on the desk next to him before he had finished speaking.

Ayella could feel the disappointment in the room. It was as though every student there were hoping to have the secrets of the Weave laid open before them, but instead, they had just been asked to leave. The three Dwarves were the first to leave, grumbling as they did. Ayella thought that they all looked so similar they had to be siblings. She watched the rest of the students filter out behind them.

When the only people left were Cervice, the purple Tainted and herself, she approached the front of the room. Cervice buried his head deeper in his paperwork as she walked up to him. Ayella decided that he was making a concerted effort to ignore her.

“I’m sorry. Sir?” She started.

“Cervice.”

“Yes, Cervice. Excuse me. I was wondering if you could direct me to the office of a woman named Apinia?”

“You’ll have to wait like everyone else for your reading. No skipping the cue.” He drawled, long and low.

“I’m not skipping. I was just asked to go and see her. She asked me to find her.” Ayella continued on.

“She asked?” Cervice looked up from his paperwork. The short tusks that protruded from his lower jaw looked especially sharp at that distance.

Ayella nodded. Cervice inhaled deeply. He stood up, gathering his paperwork with a “Very well. Follow me.” And led the Elf out of the room, leaving the Tainted inside. Cervice led Ayella along cobbled walkways, through the quadrangle she had stumbled into, and through three other buildings until Ayella was totally lost with no hope of finding her way back.

The Orc stopped at a door, painted with an eccentric mural that sprawled like vines on a tree in a myriad of colours. He knocked shortly and waited. He looked down at Ayella quizzically. She looked up at him expectantly. Eventually the door swung open to reveal the long, spindly figure of Apinia. She looked surprised to see Ayella, an amusing expression on her bird-like face.

“Well. I suppose I cannot call you a coward.” Apinia cooed. “Thank you Cervice. Very kind of you to lead this young lady here.”

“I’m on whelp duty. I had the time.” He replied.

Apinia smiled coyly at him before stepping back from the door. Ayella assumed that to be her invitation and walked slowly into Apinia’s office. The room inside was not at all like the dim corridor she had entered from. Three large, arched windows were the centrepiece of each wall. The light that shone through their stained glass refracted around the room in a myriad of colours that reminded Ayella of the mural on the door she had just entered.

Baubles and trinkets packed every surface and even hung from the ceiling. The bookshelves were so stocked with glassware, metal work and wood carvings that the books in the room had been relegated to the floor. They were stacked into tall precarious towers that looked like they might topple at any moment.

Ayella heard the door behind her close and turned to see Apinia standing contemplatively in three hues of reflected light. She walked toward a few leather chairs in the middle of the room and sat herself down. Ayella felt almost mesmerised as the dappled light shifted and moved over Apinia as she walked through the room.

“Sit.” Apinia said. Pointing a long slender finger at the chair opposite her.

Ayella placed her belongings next to the door and made her way to the chair she had been instructed to sit in. She lowered herself down, finding it to be quite comfortable and waited expectantly. For all she knew she was about to be accosted for grabbing the strange teacher earlier in the day.

“So…you’ve willingly come to face judgement.” Apinia started.

“I really am terribly sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to-” Ayella started.

Apinia cut her off. “But you did. For whatever reason, and now we find ourselves here. Sitting opposite each other as a direct consequence for your actions. Regardless of how much remorse you show.”

Silence followed. Ayella readied herself to be chastised. For all she knew and expected she was about to find herself being kicked out of the university. She watched Apinia adjust her position in the comfortable leather chair and set her two beady eyes on the young elf.

“Now tell me.” Apinia cooed. “Are you ready for me to read your Lens?”